exegesis
by twigcollins
Summary: Post-game.  Maybe the end of the world.  OGC only.
1. Chapter 1

A moment in time.

A moment too late, for anything he did to matter.

Cloud clutched desperately at slack muscles, trying to ignore the blood, trying to deny what he already knew. The maddening static that had consumed his mind so often before was now receding, hovering at the edges of his thoughts as if watching, as if it knew when allowing him to focus hurt so much more than oblivion.

"Zack! ZACK!"

He'd tried, he'd tried and failed to do anything of consequence, and why hadn't he been used to it by now? Raspy words tearing at the air, only his voice - watching gray eyes – gray, he can't remember if that's right, here Zack was dying – _dead, he's dead he's dead he's dead_ - and Cloud couldn't remember the color his eyes should be. Still glowing, even when the life was gone, just gone.

_Zack... Zack, please. No, Zack, no no no..._

If he had been able to think, just a little more clearly, he would have gotten to his feet, taken a half a dozen steps, and pitched himself right over the cliff. One more regret, in a lifetime of missed opportunities.

The crash and snap of branches, gun oil and rough voices, maybe only memory – he didn't know how long the soldiers were gone. Mind reeling, his memory shuffled furiously between past and present, and Cloud kept reaching and flinching and thinking that if he just moved fast enough, just grabbed for what was already in his arms somehow he could take the bullets in Zack's place.

He could make it all right, but every time he tried, he was only left with his knees in the mud and a body soaked in blood, bullet holes his fingers keep slipping into as he tried to cradle the man who could have bench-pressed ten of him if he hadn't fucked up, if he hadn't failed and this was all his weakness, all his fault...

_Died for you, died for _nothing_..._

Zack died because he was too stupid to know or too kind to care, and it was the impossible, happening, and he couldn't put it back, make it stop.

Zack lied to him, this was the proof. Lied in Midgar, lied in Nibelheim, and after - every time he caught Cloud's eyes with his own, in those spare, fleeting lucid moments – _it's going to be okay, kid. it's going to be okay_. Cloud would forgive him if he would come back, if he would just come back Cloud would forgive him everything.

_Breathe. Please._ Fingers clutched against the soaked shirt, desperate. _You're a SOLDIER, and SOLDIERs can do anything. Please._

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, and Cloud stared up at the sky, waiting. Rocking forward, clutching the body with every scrap of strength he had left, eyes burning as he stared at the trees and the stones and listening to the silence and wondering when the world would stop. Wondering when Zack would wake up because it couldn't be real, he'd dreamed it too many times for it to be real and Zack would wake him up Zack would -

Lost, he was lost now, and there was nothing and the stars were singing and they _hurt_ and voices whispering, whispering, and everything hurt. Zack had fixed the thing in him that had been twisted, bent, and now that he was gone, normal wasn't normal and he couldn't go back to how things had been.

The sky and earth spinning however they felt like and Zack, _please, god no please Zack_ – screaming, someone was screaming and he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe - _please god, please..._

A gentle, quiet moment, when the switch was finally flipped. The little emotional stopgap, to reset his mind before everything could be destroyed. The real question was, how the hell had it taken so long? What was left that was worth saving?

A year in the future he'd try to tell himself it was all Hojo's doing, some combination of experiments and chemicals when even God wasn't watching, didn't want to see what the scientist had done to him. Cloud would try to tell himself it wasn't all his own choice, to let the body in his arms become a thing, to make it a part of a plan that came all at once, like instinct.

He had thought, many times, that he'd faced the worst moment, the one that would break him and just end it all. In Nibelheim, either standing united against him or blazing, such a small town with no right to look like Hell – or Midgar, when he'd realized there was no peace even in the anonymity of a crowd. A recruit the same as any other, and he was still stumbling, still outcast where there were no outcasts.

It was this moment, this choice. He knew that now and the years had passed, and he'd never been proven wrong. Zack's death, and the moving beyond – except there was no moving beyond. Cloud Strife kept living and breathing, but there were broken things beneath his skin that nothing could heal.

No real him anymore, just skin filled with leaves and rainwater - a filthy Midgar gutter. Disposable, and every wind that hit him cut through him and took a piece when it left. Scarecrow boy. Puppet. Sephiroth had been right, even when he thought he'd been lying.

_Jenova, only that and nothing more._ It wasn't him, it wasn't really him... After all he'd done, Cloud thought had the right to lie to himself to the end of fucking time.

Calm hands methodically stripped the body clean. A steady gaze looked up toward Midgar, judging it, as he sheathed the sword that was nearly as tall as he was – one-handed, just like Zack.

Just like he had always done – no more Zack, no more - because if he didn't forget he'd never crawl off this mountain and Zack... if Zack didn't get his justice he'd end up one of those howling, tortured spirits on the Nibelheim wind, coming down off the mountains with the Mako-laced winds.

Cloud had hidden from them in his mother's arms when he was small, and she'd protected him, and Zack had held him while the monsters inside his head fed and fed again and there was no one left to hold him, now.

_I'd let you take me._ Walk willingly into that ghostly embrace, whatever pain or torture Zack would require, if it could make anything better. Sleep forever with the dead. So many worse fates.

He could not be a hero, but all this would require was killing, and that he could do. If he had to stay alive, he could find justice for Zack.

Life didn't work that way, though, when even cutting down the villain and the man behind the villain and the space alien behind... he'd had to kill Sephiroth - oh Zack, wasn't it _enough_ yet? Hadn't he done enough to be left alone, to forget the things that could cut him inside, to find tedium and numbness even if he couldn't find peace?

Many nights during that year of hell he'd spent the sleepless hours fearing Sephiroth, fearing himself - and then there were the nights he sat with his eyes open, staring into the distance. Listening to the sound of bullets slamming into flesh, a half-shout as Zack realized that being silent didn't matter anymore.

Tifa had done the only thing she could do, the only way that he could come back and save the world. Giving him back what he'd fought so hard to keep away. It was unfair, to loathe her, to hate her, and he'd walked away because he didn't want to stop feeling it.

Life was full of so many moments. Places between moments, spaces of time too small to measure, smaller than a heartbeat. The moment he had Zack's body in his arms, one arm tight around his shoulders, what would almost be a choke hold if there were anything to choke, every muscle in his body tight enough to crack his own bones but he was holding the body so carefully. Zack was still warm and Cloud knew he had to let go before that faded, he had to let go or die there and then, and there it was.

Leave, or die.

When he was young he thought there was a right path, a right decision, and mistakes and chances and victories.

When he was young, he thought that choices made a difference.

So few moments left here, now - the moment when his hands slipped free, strands of blood-soaked hair leaving wet trails on his fingertips, and he was touching Zack for the last time ever, red-smeared fingers against that perfect profile. Leaving his only friend to the birds and the animals because burying him was too final and Zack was gone and the body meant nothing, not now. As soon as he left the glade it would all mean nothing, it would never have happened.

Cloud was holding his breath, holding Zack as he never had - never brave enough - and this was the last time, before letting go forever.

It was the moment that mattered.

It was the only moment that mattered.

* * *

"Falcon, where the hell are you? I've got to open one of the sluice gates."

Stupid of a simple grunt, Richards thought, to be little more than night security and have a name like Falcon. He glanced down at the button with a frustrated scowl. The need to check the location of everyone on the night shift before making any adjustment to the outer doors was just ridiculous. No logical reason any of them would have to be in the restricted areas, especially now. Standard ShinRa overzealousness for stupid rules, even two years after all that nonsense with the big ass rock in the sky – he'd been well south of all of that, and much the better for it. All the fault of those damned anti-ShinRa morons, and no one would tell him otherwise.

Richards hadn't gotten where he was by not following the rules, and didn't think much of anyone who did. Doing as he was told was the reason he was sitting safe and warm in his cozy cabin, catching the last of Loveless' live concert on the feed, instead of outside in the generally horrid Junon weather. Not that all seasons here weren't equally bad. A damn shame you had to be related to Rufus ShinRa to even hope for detail at Costa Del Sol.

"Falcon! Goddamn it, if you're playing that stupid video game of yours..."

A flash of lightning, all up in the clouds, made him transfer his scowl from the button to the window. Exactly one blink of the eye from the first spatters of water on the glass to a full-on torrent, the storms in Junon coming on faster here than anywhere else he'd been stationed. Richards shut his eyes with a grimace, ShinRa tech often looked a hell of a lot better than it ran, and if the communications grid was down, the only thing he could do – the rules demanded – was go down and look for them personally.

"Jennings? Are you-"

A hiss of static. He didn't even bother trying for Montgomery. Richards kicked open the supply closet with a grumble, grabbing for the heavy poncho, stained with salt and a lifetime of use even before he'd gotten here. Swearing over the news – or at least what ShinRa claimed to be the news.

It was one of the most interesting things about being in the corporation, measuring how far the news that reached the outside world would fall short of the true mark. He wasn't surprised to hear only a detailed report on the weather, some story about a double homicide in Midgar, a mention of Rufus ShinRa's latest tour of one of the new Mako reactors being built... somewhere, it didn't matter.

The news didn't – couldn't – touch upon the best of the latest gossip. Wutai had done a great deal to assist ShinRa during the Crisis in the Sky, the daughter of Lord Godo actually fighting in one of the final battles – and now that ShinRa was reeling, still trying to catch up to where it had been before that inexplicable, insane time – Wutai was fighting for its sovereignty once more. Taking the advantage, to throw off ShinRa for good.

It was going to be another war, everyone was certain of it. The President couldn't afford to seem weak, couldn't give up any ground or else lose all of it, and Wutai had an advantage they would press, even if it fractured the fragile unity of the entire Planet.

_Leave it to Wutai, not to be grateful. Bunch of damned backwater heathens, can't do anything but cock things up._

The thought of a victory from the tiny island was laughable, in Richards' mind. He'd heard all the stories, how most of the victory had come down to two soldiers – SOLDIERS, actually – but he thought the stories of General Sephiroth and his second-in-command seemed like a lot of wishful thinking. Too good to be true, too capable even given the way they'd been engineered, the result of some ShinRa secret project, stronger than any physical enhancement they'd tried before. A silver bullet, and so because Sephiroth was dead, they wouldn't have a chance to win the war. The perfect logical progression for every Wutai sympathizer, but Richards didn't buy a word of it.

The idea that it had been one of those 'super' SOLDIERS fighting during the Crisis, Sephiroth himself or someone just like him, battling against their foe – Richards thought it was all the result of too much conjecture, and too many comic books. In the real world, things just didn't happen like that, and although he was more than willing to believe that ShinRa had brought it all on themselves, he didn't care about the cover up. Didn't care about what had really happened, and didn't think Wutai had a shot in hell of winning the first war, certain that this one would end much the same.

A crack of lightning, close enough that the flash and the thunder came at nearly the same instant, and Richards groaned, not surprised as the lights flickered, and went out, plunging the entire room into darkness. He was a loyal ShinRa employee, but even that loyalty had its limits, and believing that ShinRa always did the best job they could manage was a line that only got trotted out when something went wrong.

He watched, as the computer screens flicked back to life, barely missing a beat – and waited for the rest of the lights to follow suit... and waited. Finally, he stumbled across to the other side of the room, banging his knee on the edge of a desk in the process – and flipped the breaker switch.

Nothing. Shit, the lightning must have missed the copious rods put up for just this sort of situation and damaged – yes, a second look outside verified that nearly all of the lights around the catwalks were out, only the two farthest security lights lit and really, though the Mako reactor hadn't been refurbished entirely for use, what with having to work around what was left of the Cannon and... dammit. Dammit, they were the most powerful scientific entity on the Planet, could the lights just work?

_Wait until next month. ShinRa needs their power, but you're still not important enough yet._

Not that the main circuit box wasn't only two floors down, with Falcon's sentry box on the way, but the rain was pounding down furiously on the glass, and he was going to get soaked even with the slicker on. ShinRa didn't allow mere guards to handle those sets of keys, and even then Richards would never have allowed it. He granted himself the favor of slamming his thumb on the intercom anyway, because being irate and annoyed was infinitely superior to just being annoyed.

"Falcon, if you hadn't _noticed_, there's a circuit breaker that needs fixing. I don't suppose you'd like to check in now, either?"

No answer. Oh goddamn it, if this was another case where he found his subordinates playing party games with the local girls, or sleeping, or god only knew what – before he could think about how miserable it would be, Richards slammed on his slicker, grabbed the keys and the flashlight and strode out the door.

It was as bad as it could be, flashlight beam rendered nearly useless by the pounding rain, and he couldn't do anything but tuck his chin against his chest to keep as much of the rain out of his face as possible, carefully taking the wet stairs down, the churning ocean, wind and rain echoing off the walls, until even the sound of his own breathing was drowned out in the chaos.

_Dammit. Dammit. Dammit._

It was a little ways from the main group of switches to the outpost box, and Richards swung his beam out, expecting to see the glow of a portable TV – and felt a little trickle of hesitation, just like the freezing water of the storm, sneak down along his spine. The door was open, out of the direct force of the wind but still banging a little against the railing behind it.

Richards grimaced, hoped that wasn't the reason Falcon hadn't answered his earlier call. All he needed was for the dumb bastard to get caught in a crosswind and tossed right over the railing.

"Falcon? You out there?" He had his PHS in his pocket, but doubted it would be any better at catching an answer than yelling, impossible to hear anything on the tinny reception in the storm.

"Falcon? Where the hell-"

He trailed off, as he took the last set of stairs to the lower level, swinging the beam away from the lookout post, to where the main control box was. Was. Ought to have been.

_It's not possible._

The box had been rigged to provide power for the temporary crew, well after the 'temporary' period had been passed, but since it had been an original part of the Junon mainframe, no one had been so worried, not ready to correct it until the Reactor itself was completely online. Tall as two of him, and just as wide, he'd only had a tiny key, meant to open the smallest portion of the box, access to only a few switches. It had been built when Scarlet had overseen much of the most recent work to the cannon, just before the Crisis. Her specifications, her demands were legendary – the box had been welded directly into the rock, the bolts used to keep it in as big as his hand, screws set in at some ridiculous depth – the sort of structure designed to outlast the cliff itself.

Gone. Ripped free right down to the posts, broken ends twisted like razor-sharp flowers, and then Richards heard a slight creaking sound, similar to so many Junon noises, and yet this one was different, and he shouldn't have been able to hear it, save that the wind and rain had gone into a temporary lull, and he couldn't tell where it was coming from – until he turned around, letting the beam shine into the empty space beneath the platform he'd just come down from, and what should have been a railing, and then a long, ugly drop to the sea, beyond.

The flashlight fell from his hand, bulky enough not to shatter, just hitting the ground and tipping on its side, propped against the floor at the right angle to illuminate the body in a hazy spotlight.

The railing had been torn apart, metal wires ripped from their moorings in the rock, blood dripping freely where they'd been twisted around Falcon's wrists and legs, suspending him spread-eagle above the edge of the catwalk. Maybe there was a different word for the position, though, when he'd been casually folded backwards, until his spine had snapped.

Richards knew the appearance of any movement was nothing but raindrops through the light – it had to be – even as he realized Falcon's eyes were open, fluttering madly, mouth open and tipped back directly into the torrent. Drowning.

If he'd had any sense left to think with, Richards would have taken the flashlight. He might have even tried to cut the man down, though even as he blinked twice Falcon's eyes rolled to white, head lolling back with no breath left to choke out of him. Richards couldn't think, couldn't plan or wonder, but after a moment of frozen horror he found that he still could run.

The combination of the rain and the total darkness had turned the world into a nightmare he could barely navigate, although Richards was terrified enough that he didn't feel himself fall against the stairs or the wall, not even when he slipped and went down hard enough to taste blood. He would have thought he could have navigated these paths without looking or even thinking, but familiar railings and platforms were rendered near invisible, gleaming with imagined edges from the rain.

Flashes of lightning provided his only illumination, each one making him scramble forward toward proven safe ground before everything went dark once more. He wanted to hope that whatever beast it was that was tracking him, it had the same difficulty moving about in the dark, though he doubted it was true.

He was sprinting, toes digging into the metal, moving far too quickly for safety – and Richards felt his already screaming heart lurch into his throat, reaching out with both hands for the railing as he nearly threw himself through a gap. The small safety chain pressed tight against him, as if in apology for a fall it could not have stopped – he'd nearly flung himself down the elevator shaft, and saved the monster the trouble of killing him itself.

_Calm down. You've got to think._ Think_, dammit._

A noble impulse, even if he could not follow it, stumbling back, lightheaded. He moved in a swaying stagger across the next platform, slowly up another set of stairs, trying to shield his eyes against the rain enough to look up and see anything. The rock face jutted out in the darkness, rain-soaked and gleaming, but he kept looking up, and finally found his point. The red emergency light, right over the door of his cabin, and if he could reach it he would be safe.

"Jennings! Montgomery!" He shouted before he could stop himself, not seeing any other lights on the platform, desperately seeking any sign of human life, the world suddenly so alien, so hostile that he only knew he was without protection or hope. His PHS crackled with static, dead from the electrical storm or the rain or whatever hellish nightmare had attacked the rest of the base. The light called to him, civilization and protection in the face of Nature's fury, and whatever inhuman thing the Planet had called down to deal with him.

The seas below, the rumbling thunder above swallowed his call up without hesitation, and for a moment the rain abated, just slightly, wind battering against his face, tugging sharply at the edges of the slicker he couldn't make his hands work enough to tie back around him, and Richards stared out into the darkness above the water, feeling smaller, more inconsequential than he ever had. A terror even beyond the moment, the simple fear of death.

He'd always thought it was nonsense, new-age crap when people spoke of Cosmo Canyon and the studies there. The idea that the Crisis had started because the Planet was angry, that Mako was intrinsically bad and not simply technology, another means of producing the energy they needed to survive. Now, looking out over the sea, there was a silence in him that had nothing to do with the wind, the rain or the sea – a still, quiet place, opening up for him, as if he was the first to receive the Planet's real answer.

A whisper, the softest suggestion of sound, the slightest rumble of thunder that suggested it might be merciful, to die here now.

A sound made him turn, fast enough that his feet slipped out from under him – it would have been funny had he not had his arms over his head, screaming – and as he stood there shaking in the rain a flash of lightning illuminated the world behind him, what he'd thought was the monster about to leap down upon him.

Jennings, impaled on one of the long poles that stretched up, part of the catwalk that had been in repair, and before he could fully take in this sight, the soldier's limp body skewered, there was a second sweeping shadow, fast movement and a hard impact that made the entire catwalk shudder, and Montgomery's body slumped over Jennings, the metal pole stretching up through both their bodies, no way to even tell blood from rain in the dark.

Thrown from above, which meant whatever was here was above him, but there was nowhere else he could go, nowhere safe. All the guns and the communications equipment in that room, safe and surrounded by monster-proof glass, and he'd always thought it was so ridiculous, so silly. No monsters here, not since well before he'd taken the position, and he'd never listened with much seriousness to the stories of the things that liked to collect around Mako reactors. Tales for fools, the easily scared and those who wanted to seem impressive. You could say anything if you wore the ShinRa uniform, and no civilian would ever know if it was true.

This was the truth, though, and it still didn't seem like the truth, wet uniform sticking to him and his breath catching hot and sharp in his throat, the edge of bile, wiping soaked hair out of his eyes. Richards steeled himself, banishing all other thoughts – he was a soldier, and ShinRa had to know what was happening here, and there was only him left to tell them. Forget the waves and the wind and the storm, the only real threat was a monster in the darkness, and if he could get his hands around a gun he could make short work of that.

Waiting for the next flash of lightning, and he had climbed far enough to be on familiar ground, some miracle depositing him only a staircase and platform away from the main room, and safety. It took all of his strength not to run, forcing himself into a quick but careful pace, every muscle still aching as if he'd scaled the walls with his bare hands, breath steaming in the air – and he nearly sobbed, breath leaving him in a strangled scream, standing at the bottom of the final staircase and staring up at the open door, and it wasn't his imagination, that this door swung the same as the other, slowly, as if beckoning him closer.

Did he have a choice? Had he simply forgotten to shut the door? Richards ascended the stairs slowly, as quietly as he could, hand clutching around his PHS and wishing it had any sort of edge, that he could even delude himself into thinking it was a weapon. If he thought crawling below the stairs, pissing himself and waiting for his mother had any better chance of saving his life, he wouldn't have moved up the stairs, but he simply had no choice.

A part of him still hoped, desperately, that any moment he would wake up.

Richards braced himself for a moment, at the top of the stairs, waiting and watching and finally lunged for the door, one arm outstretched, stumbling forward, only to stop when it was closed slowly, almost gently, from the other side.

Death, standing there in the rain and the red light. Not casting a demonic glow, or a hellish pallor – just red light and rain. The roar of the ocean still swirling around them, a planet disinterested in his life, nothing to concern the sand or the sea. Blue eyes reflected the sentiment in more human terms – if only barely - and even in the light they burned.

_Pure_. It was the only word he could think of, to describe those eyes.

So small, Richards didn't think such an unassuming figure could be the cause of so much carnage, but a second slow movement followed the first, and what he thought was the railing – too long, too much metal to be anything else – proved to be something far worse. He'd probably been wrong about a great deal, and thought that it was funny, that it should seem so meaningful in this final moment.

_It wasn't a monster. It wasn't a monster at all._


	2. Chapter 2

Zack had always chalked up the fact that he'd walked out of Wutai with anything resembling mental health to the simple truth of having no poetry in his soul. A body was a body, a battlefield was – yes – the worst place in the world to be, and watching friends bleed to death in his arms, seeing innocent civilians mowed down – it was an unholy shitstorm. It required drinking and flirting and more drinking and kissing girls' smiles and never learning their names - doing whatever it took to forget. Zack still didn't fall into it, the way he'd seen other soldiers go down. Couldn't let that abyss consume him, every new day bringing just enough amnesia with it that he didn't have to struggle with everything he had to escape the past, didn't have to fail at being a philosopher with a handgun.

He wondered if it had been the reason he'd gotten in on the SOLDIER program, that he didn't obsess about what it could mean to live in a world where such horrible things happened every day. The greater questions stayed mostly unanswered for him, and he thought that wasn't a real problem – no use for someone like him mucking about in contemplation, at any rate.

It still hurt to think about, sometimes, just like it hurt him when Cloud would stumble and fall all the way through his life, and always keep going. Wearing bruises that didn't come from training, shaking off his questions with a too-steady voice – but Zack still went on, tried to keep the kid's chin up, certain there would be enough good in the future to at least even out with the bad.

Of course, sometimes he wondered if everyone didn't have a place in the universe, and if Cloud wasn't the nail for absolutely everyone's hammer. If that hadn't been the look in the boy's eyes sometimes. A silent warning that if Zack got too close, he'd just get himself hurt too.

... and how he'd told himself, with such incredible confidence, that it wouldn't take long to prove the kid wrong. He'd show Cloud that there was no reason to be afraid of the world. Hell, he'd even scored him a seat on a trip back to his hometown, side-by-side with his personal hero.

_Yes, Zack. Nothing to be afraid of._

Zack had wondered often enough, how Sephiroth had managed to keep himself together, too silent to let the words leech the pain out, couldn't use conventional drugs with all the mako in his blood. Too distant to use another body, either love or simply sex to make himself clean, but too in control, too steady to be holding so much inside, not _all the time._ In light of what had happened in Nibelheim, Zack realized just how far he'd underestimated his friend's control, or the danger he'd been in. That they'd all been in.

_Damn you, you bastard. Why didn't you tell me? All you had to do..._

Not his fault, none of it had anything to do with him, but it felt like failure all the same. He slipped a bit on the stair, and felt the chest against his back hitch slightly, the barest tremor of sensation.

"You doing all right, kiddo?"

It was hard enough for him to breathe, every breath burning like the air was ammonia, like it wasn't just mako-soaked lungs trying to remember what real air felt like, unaltered by tranquilizers or mako-accelerants. It didn't help any that he was dragging another body halfway over his shoulder, Cloud's feet pointed straight down, toes dragging against the stairs as he climbed.

If he'd been the type of person with a poetic soul, Zack would have known there was no way he could get out of here. His muscles had atrophied, or whatever you could call it, when they still rippled and strained, permanently honed by the Mako, yet it took all his strength and concentration just to make it from one stair to the next. All his focus, just to raise his foot a half dozen inches and pull Cloud along with all his might.

Hojo had worked on him for a bit at first, but not very long. Zack had thought that maybe the Mako already inside him had saturated his cells too much for the scientist to do more – and he'd had some intent, not just toying with them for the experiment of it. Zack had still been violently sick for weeks after the last time he was pulled from his tube, but at least Hojo had stopped. Zack wasn't sure why – why the bastard hadn't just killed him and been done with it.

... and then Hojo had started in on Cloud – and he never stopped.

He couldn't remember escaping so clearly, any concept of linear time broken down in his mind – perhaps irrevocably. He'd had the plan for as long as he could keep his thoughts together, watching Cloud's slack, pale face – they'd taken away the breathing mask, and he couldn't remember when, couldn't /remember/ but instinct had said that Cloud hadn't twitched or whimpered in a long time or looked at him for even longer, and if he was going to do this there was only now. Zack let go, let the same instinct that he'd relied on through forty-hour firefights in Wutai take control, let it notice when and how the assistants moved, when would be the best time to make his own move.

The same instinct that lunged and snarled inside his frozen body, every time Hojo appeared. The scientist ignored him entirely now, a cast-off control that was no longer necessary. Impossible to get out of here and kill him at the same time – Hojo brought _things_ with him, powerful monsters to drag Cloud out of his tube, even if the kid hadn't moved in forever – maybe not even being drugged anymore, feet hitting the floor with a wet slap, head down. Nothing really suggesting he was even alive, besides the burn of mako in his eyes, and even that, even that...

The process of creating SOLDIERS was nothing but mistakes, he'd assumed as much before he'd joined, although it was still amazing how much of the usual ShinRa incompetence followed even the most elite procedures. He'd seen men _explode _when a procedure went wrong, seen them go batshit in the field, ripping the pin out of every grenade on their vest and screaming about voices and lights as everyone else dove for cover. He'd seen SOLDIERS with eyes that burned as brightly as Cloud's did now, but all of them had been dead.

Zack hadn't been sure breaking the kid out wouldn't kill him, that he would survive the trip out, to wherever they had to go to be safe. He wouldn't have left even a body with Hojo, though, not in this place. No question that if anyone could have brought back the dead, it was that bastard.

Cloud was still alive, somehow, breathing shallowly against the side of his neck, steadily enough. Zack wasn't sure how he'd managed to find the blue bag clenched in his white-knuckled hand, his fingers scraped slightly from where he'd hit the guard – maybe killed him, and the righteous scream from his instincts suggested he'd done a bit more than that. The bastards deserved it – especially as he'd reached out for a handhold, and heard a soft, strange thud, staring down at the ground until he could make out the delicate shape of an opened book.

He'd lunged back from it as if it had been a coiled serpent, remembering the last time he'd seen one. When Sephiroth had been holding it, and the city had been in flames. Maybe not in that order, not that it mattered.

_Bullshit, doesn't make sense. Why are there books?_

Stone gave way to wood, wood gave way to tapestry, and Zack couldn't do anything for a moment but hold it in his hand, letting the memory come back to him of what fabric felt like, what it was like to touch something that wasn't metal or plastic or his own mako-soaked skin. A rage was growing inside of him, and he didn't know why he should be so angry about knowing where he was, but hell, he could spread the rage around, there was enough for any reason he could think of.

Zack had spent endless hours studying the bleak, anonymous environs of the lab, wondering just where they might be. His guess had been Midgar, somewhere deep in the ShinRa building's inner sanctums, all those rooms he'd never had the right clearance to enter. Maybe Junon, or their underwater base – there were a thousand nooks and crannies to store any nasty experiment ShinRa could come up with, especially if Hojo had the President's approval for his little project.

The way the metal and plastic had turned to old stone made him think it was not Midgar, but ruled out Junon and just about any other lab he could think of, either. It was as if the older building had been retrofitted, built for an entirely different reason and then changed – and it was familiar, but he'd never been in a building like this. Nothing so fancy, and he found it was a little easier to move as the anger grew and grew, fueling his movements, sharpening his vision. Zack didn't want to know why he was so angry, didn't want the realization to make it past the focus he needed to search his surroundings, carefully listening for any voices, any sign that their escape had raised an alarm.

It was too easy, but then again, they'd been down in that lab for a long time, and after a few initial struggles they'd made sure Zack hadn't had anything to fight with, and Cloud had never been able to do more than scream and beg and –

_Focus, soldier._

Sephiroth's voice, and Zack couldn't keep from even telling the imaginary voice right where he could cram that focus. Focus hadn't kept him alive, had it? Keeping that stick wedged so tight up his ass hadn't kept _him_ from losing his mind. Where the hell had the super SOLDIER been then, Seph? Why had all that macho, stone-faced, icy bullshit been so useless when he'd obviously needed it most? Where the fuck had the man been, who'd known what he was capable of, and feared it, and swore that he'd never-

Zack shut his eyes, leaning his head against the wall, concentrating on the weight of Cloud against his back and his own hot skin and even the slight rim of moisture dripping down out of his eyes. Just irritation, tears would come later, when he wasn't so tired he'd forgotten how to cry.

He bit his lip, no sign of anyone in this entire house, and though he had to be careful he had to be fast too, and his judgment... his judgment wasn't for shit, rather surprised he could even name what he was looking at – windows, floors, walls. Instinct said open the front door, and so Zack shifted Cloud as carefully as he could, to be able to get his hand free just long enough to flip the lock, and pull it open, coming fully face to face with what some part of him had already known.

"Oh, fuck me."

It was possible to go insane while being insane, Zack was sure of that now, incredulity slamming into him like a landslide as he looked down over the hill, the tiny town of Nibelheim stretching out in front of him, the same as the day they'd arrived. If he'd seen a ShinRa truck pull up, and watched Sephiroth and himself and Cloud step out, he really wouldn't have been so surprised.

Wavering on his feet, exhaustion finally pulled him out of his shock, and Zack stumbled forward down the path. It was so bright he could hardly see, and the wind was freezing even with the sun out, the guard's clothes sticking to him, sweat-soaked and still smelling of chilled mako – he'd stripped the guard? Zack blinked, and looked down, and realized it must have happened, even if his memory didn't think it was important enough to keep.

Cloud was not so lucky, wrapped only in a blanket that kept coming undone around him, and if the damned thing flapped in the breeze it might give them away, but he'd need the heat later. They could use everything they had, even if that was only a wool blanket, a uniform that barely fit and one blue bag that hopefully contained a full set of doses.

If he died here, if they died here, at least it would be in the sun and the grass and someone would see, someone would know.

"You feel that, Cloud? We're out. We're free."

He couldn't speak above a cracked whisper, and the boy had long traded this prison for another, no sign of life behind the blazing eyes. Zack remembered, as sudden and complete as if he'd never forgotten, how the guard he'd knocked out had twitched and convulsed and probably died when he'd opened the locks to Cloud's cell. Remembered the thick Mako fog rolling out, leaving him blind and breathless, flailing wildly to find Cloud and drag him out. He wouldn't have put Cloud's chances high if he'd went through the regular SOLDIER program, and long ago it was clear, whatever Hojo was up to...

Zack clenched his fist tighter around the blue bag, like a child with a safety blanket, a mocking little voice singing in the back of his head that one little blue bag wasn't going to do anything unless he wanted to put the boy out of his misery. Put a few needles in him in the right doses and leave him here, safe and gone and dead.

The sourness in the back of his mouth turned to blood, and he was flashing again, laying helpless on his back, slashed open with Cloud standing over him, trembling and wide eyed and too small, all Zack could think was that he was too damn small, too small to ask anything of him, to expect him to work miracles. It was still hard to imagine he'd been able to give the order – even more that Cloud had obeyed, and he must have done it, somehow, must have stopped Sephiroth which meant...

If they'd rebuilt the town, like nothing had happened, then this went further and deeper than anything he'd thought possible. He had to do everything he could to keep Cloud alive, the boy as much at the center of this as anything.

Opening the gate nearly gave him a heart attack, the loud creak reminding him too much of a scream, and Zack flinched, gritting his teeth and stupidly freezing for a moment, waiting for the inevitable hail of bullets. Nothing, only silence and the sound of his own breathing, but Zack knew it wouldn't last long, even if this was a ghost town /someone/...

Up close, the town looked even less and less right than it had from above, more like a set for a movie than a place where real people lived. No grime, on any of the buildings, or the cobblestones. Dirt, yes, but not the same sort of lasting film that built up in old places, backwoods towns where nothing had ever really been new.

_Why would they rebuild it?_

Zack pushed down on the first of what he thought would be an unlimited number of unwanted realizations, and the reason it had been so easy for Hojo to keep them locked away.

_Everyone was in on this._

A figure, moving, and he only saw a blur, though his instincts told him it hadn't looked right, moved right to be a soldier. Zack still ducked down, quickly moving from tree to tree along the most sheltered route he could manage, skirting the edge of the town. His entire body was burning now, the first of the reaction to the Mako withdrawal that was only going to get worse from here – and if he could get away from the mountain or at least the damn town...

"Nnnnn..."

The first sound from Cloud, so low and soft it didn't even threaten to give away their position. He might have even twitched, slightly, though when Zack glanced over his shoulder the blue eyes were still vacant. Still, he followed their gaze – straight through the space between two buildings, what he recognized had been Cloud's home. One thin hand raised slightly, a feeble clutching motion, and the next sound was a thin, painful whine.

"No, no." Zack quickly shifted them out of view, alternately relieved and afraid as he felt the too-hot body go limp once more, Cloud jerking once before laying still.

"It wasn't real, Spike. Just a nightmare. Not real."

Zack realized he was still speaking, more just moving his lips and the barest burning of air in the back of his throat, but he allowed himself the measure of insanity. Strip it of poetry and extra meaning, though, that was important. He was suffering from shock and extreme sensory deprivation and long-term Mako exposure and any one of those three things made any concession justifiable, if it meant he could keep walking. Keep moving, off the damn mountain, find someplace safe and make a plan and find some new clothes and pass out for a solid week – all three at once, if he could manage it.

Zack had managed to clear the town, didn't dare go near the one dirt road out, and was navigating a slope steep enough to make his knees tremble, threatening to give way at any moment, when a klaxon began to sound, the shrill blare ripping through him like lightning, knees buckling and both he and Cloud tumbling to the bottom of the hill.

Luckily, it wasn't far to go, nor a very hard landing, but all of Zack's bones ached as if they were set to shatter, and he was only grateful that Cloud hadn't made a noise, fighting breathlessness to stagger to his feet, get the kid up and moving. It wasn't a run, wasn't even close, but as the minutes passed and that alarm seemed to be the only thing to rattle his nerves, Zack realized that his instincts had again been right. He'd waited until the perfect moment, and ShinRa had fallen into their usual brand of carelessness, and he and Cloud were being chased by – at the most – perhaps a half-dozen standard-issue grunts. If they got caught, if Hojo had – likely – issued instructions in such an event, that they be captured alive, Zack could probably take down a few, maybe even all of them, with a little luck. He ought to have a surplus of that, after all this time without.

Zack was not, by nature, a bloodthirsty man, but there was no denying the itch in his hands, wanting to pay back a little of what had been done to him in corporate blood. Trying to remind himself that it was no good wasting it on the grunts, that he knew enough about how it all worked, who exactly was responsible for all of this.

The Turks. Rufus. The President.

_Are you really...?_

Oh yes, yes he most definitely was.

A sound overhead made Zack look up sharply, tipping his head back until he nearly lost his balance. Panic slashing through his chest, until he realized the reason he didn't recognize it was how he'd been thinking vehicle, that he'd been wrong, that there were helicopters trained on them and – thunder. Only thunder, and for a moment it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

A shout, far in the distance, made him remember himself, the wind kicking up and blowing right through his thin uniform, the continued trembling of his limbs suggesting he wouldn't be able to go for much longer at any speed. All the forests around Nibelheim were the same as he'd remembered on their drive through, wide and deep and mainly untouched. Cloud had said there had never been much of a logging industry – never much industry, the town in too far a state of decline to even gain the capital for new business.

He wondered, now, if that hadn't been the way ShinRa had preferred it.

_Oh god. Oh god._ Zack's breath caught in his throat, he would have put his head between his legs if there were a way to do it and still keep hold of Cloud. Sit down, if he thought there was any chance he'd stand again. Flashbacks that hit hard enough to leave bruises, all those memories he'd been searching for – the experiments, and before - _Seph, oh god, how could you... why?_ - suddenly making themselves known. Scabbed-over wounds, daring him to rip them up and see what was underneath.

Zack gritted his teeth against a scream he promised could come out later - _be a good psychotic reaction, and I'll get you some ice cream in the next town _- and forced himself to focus on the now. Rocks, trees, ledges, anything he could use as cover, camouflage from the soldiers and shelter from the storm that was now well on its way. God, at least it wasn't snow. Was it the chill of early spring, or late autumn, though? What season had it been when they'd come – two days, it had been a _god-damned_ two-day mission and-

_Focus._

At least Zack knew how to hide himself, no matter what terrain he had to work with. All old, old Wutai knowledge from the war, and even the basics he'd picked up hunting back home. It was more than enough – hopefully - to hide him from whatever soldiers they'd stocked this post with, so certain he'd lost any hope of getting out, that they'd broken him past thoughts of escaping. Simple to find a place to hide, even with Cloud, who acted as little more than the oversized rucksack he had to drop before he followed, sliding down against the tree and packing as many leaves as he could over the both of them.

Zack glanced up at a crack of lightning, another rumble of thunder, a cold drop of rain splashing against his face, the barest shadow of the burning Mako cold. It still wasn't safe here, tucked in between the bushes and rocks, and a copse of trees. Once the first wave of real withdrawal hit him, though, Zack knew wouldn't be moving for hours. Better to stop himself beforehand. He glanced down, at the blue bag in his hand. The temptation was very strong, to pump himself up and keep going, get as far away as he could from Nibelheim, until he couldn't feel the proximity to the damned place, cold and clammy on his skin. Still, he wasn't the reason the bag was so necessary, and he was certain things were going to get much worse from here.

Cloud twitched, whimpering as a few drops of rain splashed across his face. Zack turned as best he could, staring at the burning blue eyes, all that was left of his friend, of anything that could be called a person now lost, drowned, sloshing around in the fathomless depths. He'd heard of SOLDIER candidates getting lost in their own minds, and here was the proof he'd never wanted.

A few more drops, and then the sky opened up, pouring down around them. As if the Planet was now on their side, the swift downpour erasing any tracks they might have left behind. Certainly dissuading any soldiers who probably didn't want to continue the search anyway. Unaware that the first-class SOLDIER they were looking for could barely lift an arm to pull his friend against his chest.

At least his hair was still soft, and Zack stroked it, more for his own comfort than anything, feeling Cloud's hands clench against his chest and trying to pretend it was a voluntary movement. At least they weren't getting completely soaked, some protection from the mesh of pines above their head – and it wasn't as if it could do them any real harm, anyway.

"It's all right. Shh, don't be scared. It's just rain, kid. Real rain. You'll remember. You will."

A soft promise, unsure, and as much for himself as his friend. Zack tipped his head back, letting the rain splash on his tongue while he wished for something real to drink, and watched the sky until the clouds cleared, and the stars came out.

* * *

When the call came from Junon, Rufus had been in Midgar. Neo-Midgar, though he refused to call it by the popular term - overseeing a mountain of paperwork that had only grown since they'd managed to actually pull a working bureaucracy back together. Two years, and the only time he'd actually seen over his desk was when one of Reno's fire materia had accidentally sparked, engulfing the highly flammable stacks of invoices, requests and plans well before the sprinkler system could go off.

At least, Reno had said, water dripping off his hair at a steady beat, they knew it still worked.

The years had flown by, Rufus alternately overjoyed, feeling a rush that seemed downright illegal, every time he could give a direct order, actually accomplish something without his father's intervention or permission. In the past he'd managed to establish the Turks, establish _himself _while all the while evading his father's eye, hiding and quietly maneuvering and waiting for the moment the old bastard would die. Now that the city – the world was /his/, his word was law, his actions had immediate results - but every bit of his drive, his ability was necessary just to keep ShinRa from falling apart.

Most days started out like today had, waking up before dawn to the sound of his PHS ringing on the nightstand, or else in his pocket, when he'd simply slid his shoes off and stumbled into bed fully-clothed. Usually a Turk on the other end, sometimes Elena, though this time it was Rude's quiet voice that met him on the other end of the line, a few soft, emotionless words about an 'incident' in Junon. Nothing to suggest he was at all concerned about what it probably meant. Rufus peeled off his old clothes, kicking them into a corner for the maid, and showered, eating his breakfast as he put his new suit on, clicking off appointments that needed to be rescheduled while he glanced at what passed for news in Midgar.

The people were annoyed at the tax rate. The people also wondered why the trains still hadn't been fixed through all the sections. Some of them even missed living under the plate, where it had fallen away.

The people were morons, and Rufus smirked, the very long day he was about to have entirely for their benefit. He stepped out of his room, into a private elevator, and down to a marble-floored lobby, nodding a good morning to his secretary. Trading papers with her, his reassignments for a faxed group of documents that he doubted would have anything truly insightful to say about the events at Junon.

On his way out the front door, Rufus threw the paper into a recycling bin, covered in cheerful little arrows with no clue to how the Planet truly liked to keep its cycles. Ten minutes later, he was in his private helicopter, with Midgar behind him, even more beautiful for looking like a well-cracked eggshell, exposed beams gleaming against the sun. A few plumes of steam rising from the various Mako reactors, well into their morning operations.

His city, and the Planet couldn't have it back.

The trappings of wealth brought with them a great deal of comfort, leather seats plush and comfortable as he leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. It also brought power, a sense of serene forethought, all barriers disappearing as he strode forward, to what he knew was an impressive destiny. Little in his life had ever seemed overwhelming or futile, at least in a business sense. Options were always available, even in these worst-case scenarios, when skeletons laid to rest came out of ShinRa's closets, no mistake the company made ever truly gone, it seemed.

The Planet had come very close to destroying him once, and Rufus had no illusions that it would appreciate a second chance. Sephiroth had done him a favor, in the first Crisis, but there was little hope he would get so lucky a second time.

Rufus scanned the documents he'd been handed, but the pictures had turned out badly, too grainy to even see the bodies the report told him there ought to be. Poor Elena, she tried so hard to follow procedure, when he thought it doubtful Reno had _ever_ touched a fax machine, let alone written up an actual report. Scarlet had called him improper, even for a thug – but then, she'd known he'd take it as a compliment.

He reached Junon at midday, the helipad positioned right next to the Mako reactor, allowing him to bypass the city altogether. He wasn't sure about the state of the reactor – or rather, how it had been before the incident the night before. Shut down now, Junon switched entirely to an emergency power supply – hell, they'd been running mostly on emergency power for the last two years anyway. Rufus inhaled and nearly coughed, the brackish air burning just as much as Mako ever did.

"Sir!"

He held no official military rank, neither had his father, but the soldiers saluted obediently as he passed, their expressions devoid of expression, and so he assumed they hadn't been part of the cleanup crew, given Elena's fully detailed report. Three soldiers killed, the night shift crew for the – he realized now – down reactor, just about to be sent back online. Only three, but their deaths had been unquestioningly violent, deliberately so. all the proof he needed that this had not been a mistake. Just a warning.

_Really, so dramatic. I'd thought we were past all that._

He smirked as he climbed the stairs, and the smirk stayed on his face as he stood at the doorway of the control room, surveying the damage. It looked as if the body – Richards, was it? – had simply exploded, a thin sheen of blood covering the windows, the walls, the floors, with nothing so substantial as a fragment of bone or a torn appendage.

_Just like the prison break. At least he knows who to copy._

Gore everywhere, except where a television screen had been wiped clear, and the chair Reno had dragged from another room. He was watching some old kung-fu movie from Wutai, edges of his heels propped up against the fax machine, and didn't even glance up when Rufus shifted where he stood, clearing his throat.

"Hey boss. Game was on, but it hasn't been the same since our home team got flattened in the Crisis."

"I'd think you were contaminating evidence, but if I really couldn't figure out what happened here-"

"Sir." He wondered where Elena had been, her cheeks a little reddened by the morning cold, but her expression one of complete calm, stepping around him as he nodded to her, slapping Reno's feet to the floor with the folder in her hand. He smirked, kicking his feet up, swinging the chair around to face him, just as Rude stepped up to where Elena had been. Rufus ushered him inside, toeing the blood-smeared door closed slightly with his foot, just enough to give them some semblance of privacy, without being overcome by the stench.

"I read the report. No warning at all, hm?"

A soft snort, as Reno scratched his crotch with the edge of his weapon. Rufus wondered if he'd ever forgotten to turn it off before using it for such mundane tasks.

"It's not surprising they got taken off guard, not if someone really wanted in. Just a couple of grunts."

Elena may have handled the reports, but Reno enjoyed talking, even if every word a half-awake drawl. Rufus was still certain the Turk had gotten more sleep than he had.

"Stupid fuckers never had a chance, no one else knew until the power grid blew this morning. The reactor was close to being fully operational again, but now – pffft."

"It could have been much worse." Elena broke in. "If the system had been working, and that level of containment had been breached-"

The machinery had been torn apart just as thoroughly as the guards had, and even if the strength required for that sort of destruction didn't imply anyone specifically, Rufus would have still been working from a very short list. He stepped back, as Elena pulled a tape out of her jacket pocket, slipping it into the VCR beneath the TV, glaring halfheartedly as Reno protested the loss of his entertainment.

Security tapes were never very exciting, even the one that had captured Sephiroth putting a sword through his father's back. He hadn't kept a copy of that, though he was certain all the thought he had. At first there was nothing to see, the view one from inside this very office – keeping an eye on the employees, more than any danger. The very edge of the doorway was visible, all brights and shadows thrown into sharp yet grainy relief.

"The door opens, there." Reno flicked his fingers out, though Rufus could see only the barest flicker of movement at the corner of the screen. A few more minutes passed, with nothing but the occasional flash of lightning, the blur of rain falling past the window. He frowned, at another slight movement.

"The door shuts?"

"Just wait for it." Reno said, entirely too much amusement in his voice, considering the situation. All the time the room had been empty, nothing happening was a moot point, as a blur passed by the camera, hitting the far wall enough to jostle it, lens blurring, though he did catch a flash of pale color. Yellow – cast white from the cameras, but he was certain it was yellow - and moving fast, just before the screen went dark.

"That was the last of the guards, and then the power went down for a few minutes, even in the control booth." Reno was smirking, he'd seen what Rufus had noticed.

"Can we slow that down? Enlarge the image?"

The Turk carried a Cheshire cat grin in his back pocket, wherever he went, rubbing at his lower lip with a thumb. Even the most boring of his gestures always seemed dirty. "We can do you one better than that. Just keep watching."

Minutes passed, and Rufus thought he could see a change in the darkness, when the camera turned back on but had nothing to film. The lights flickered back on so suddenly he nearly jumped, though there was nothing to see on the screen – the room much the way it was now, blood covering the walls and floor and the – somewhat ironic – shatterproof glass.

A hint of movement, the camera had been tipped at a strange diagonal in the chaos, not catching most of what was happening on an entire side of the room, so Cloud Strife had to take quite a few steps toward the door, before he was fully in view.

Looking straight at the camera, blood covering him solid nearly to his shoulders, spatters up and down a uniform that Rufus could not believe had held together so long.

_Maybe he had a spare._

Cloud smiled, mako eyes cast into a bizarre, pale shade by the cheap video. A mocking smile, a challenging one. The same one on Sephiroth's face, when President ShinRa had finally slumped against the desk. The little details, he remembered them all – how Sephiroth had said something to the President – the President's body - but no amount of enhancement or study would make those words any clearer.

His eyes were still piercing, even looking back from the past, and Cloud lifted his arms slowly, palms up, an exaggerated sort of careless shrug, and turned, walking slowly out of the room, his sword – not the one that glowed, he noticed, but a standard-issue SOLDIER weapon – matching him in coloring, mottled reds painting the wide flat of the blade nearly to the hilt.

No one moved, Reno the only one with the ability to even pretend to take this in stride.

"You always thought this might happen."

Rufus would be grinning about this, very soon he would recover his equilibrium, but at the moment it was enough to just keep looking at the screen, forcing his voice to be completely steady.

"I was hoping we could find a way to kill him before it did."

* * *

Yuffie Kisaragi loved Cloud Strife.

The moment she felt her heart fill up with it, whispered it to herself, in secret, she had carved it on one of the trees in the forests surrounding the Da-Chou, taking her time with each Wutainese character. Smiling at how easily his name slipped into her language, words they already had in common. It made her feel like she might keep him, when so little else would support the lie.

The rough characters were smooth under her fingertips, and she realized she was panting a little with the effort of her work. Yuffie carefully resheathed the dagger and let her head drop to rest against the trunk. Still tracing the small, careful lettering, over and over, allowing her heart's blindness playing pretend with the rest of her senses for just a moment.

He wouldn't care. He didn't know. It certainly wasn't the reason he shared her bed, and it would drive him away to tell him, just as fast as he had walked away from Tifa Lockheart. Many times her own affection for him seemed only transient, a banner unfurling into a desperate, blinding love that obscured everything, only to ripple away when she tried to grab hold of it. Twisting and falling and gone.

Everything about Cloud was ephemeral, and Yuffie thought Tifa was the stupidest girl in the world, to think she could ever keep him, to think that he wasn't forever slipping, stepping just out of sight.

The words on the tree were an oath, or a marker, or just the determination of a young girl, that someday someone might find the tree and think of them and wonder. Whatever stories they could come up with, they wouldn't possibly be anything like the truth, and maybe that was for the best. Yuffie hoped, whatever happened in this world, that the last memory, the last remnant of her and Cloud and the love she felt for him would be a beautiful story.

A branch cracked, immediately breaking her from her reverie. The ninja girl quickly rose, stepping back until she was resting against the nearest tree, scanning the thick screen of leaves, tipping her wrist back and then forward slightly, to drop a dagger into her hand. The reports had come in from Junon, the carnage there and, through the restricted channels, exactly who had been to blame.

Which meant he was on his way here, to her.

It should have been easy to spot blonde hair amidst the varying multitude of greens, but in her language, they had words for creatures like Cloud, who could vanish while you were staring at them. Suspended between this world and the land beyond - when he wanted to be, he was a shadow, as incorporeal as his name.

No sign of an intruder, by what her ears told her, all the birds still singing, the whole forest at peace. She knew better, how little that meant. Was just about to step away from the tree, move into a better position when she heard another slight crack behind her, entirely the opposite direction from the first noise of movement.

Yuffie didn't hesitate, turning and throwing the knife all in one motion, and her eyes fell into the blazing blue – it was always falling, no one actually /met/ Cloud's eyes – before the knife struck, less than an inch from where he stood leaning against the tree, wobbling softly in the space just above his right ear.

He glanced back. "You missed me."

"I did."

The words were barely out, and Yuffie turned, sprinting with everything she had, already knowing there was no chance of escape. She loved to run, and in these woods most of all, knowing every hill and valley, feeling the burn in her muscles as she pressed for speed and agility, jumping from tree-to-tree to cross a wider ditch, continuing along the trees as if they'd lined up to assist her. Listening to her own progress through the forest, whisper quiet, just the slight sound of her own breath on impact, whenever her feet touched down, the softest rustle as the leaves shook, disturbed by her passing.

Cloud was faster, though, and quieter, and though she looked for him, knowing he would try to cut her off, she only had the slightest glimpse of blonde or blue before it would be gone again, though she managed to anticipate his plan of attack enough to turn, ducking and dodging and winding around her own path more than once, until her chest was burning with the effort and she was nearly back where she had started.

Yuffie remembered the tree a moment too late, and darted to the left to avoid it, leaping up to grab a tree limb and hearing the slightest sound behind her. Feeling arms come up, twining around her middle and the slightest sound of Cloud's breath, and she was falling, shrieking – nothing was sweeter than shrieking in fake protest, knowing those arms hardly knew how to hurt, for all that ShinRa had tried to make him.

Cloud took the brunt of the fall, when they hit the ground, tumbling over and over in the grass, and he ended up on top of her, straddling her waist, one wrist in each of his hands, pinned back against the grass, the both of them grinning like children, though only she was a bit winded from the effort.

"Welcome home." She'd always watched his eyes, to see if he'd understand, that he could think of it as true, but like most things, that answer was swallowed up, vanished into the depthless blue.

Cloud shifted his grip, letting go of her right wrist, and Yuffie immediately lifted it, caressing his cheek and jaw with the back of her knuckles, until he tipped his head to kiss it, leaning back, slowly standing up. Yuffie's hormones gave a squawk of protest that she tried to ignore – it wasn't like she hadn't had a roll in the field before, and it _wasn't _the most comfortable thing in the world, but still, she wanted him close. Always wanted his body pressed up against hers, when he could easily vanish, even beneath her touch, without any warning at all.

"Did it go all right?" She murmured, standing up just long enough to flop against him again, drawing her arms around his neck. It was easy to tuck her legs back up, hanging by her locked elbows. Yuffie knew she might as well have been weightless, for all the strain it caused him. Cloud nodded, just slightly, and she wondered what he had been like, before the time every movement became a strict play, a conservation of energy.

"He knows, now."

Rufus ShinRa - all of this bloodshed had been for his benefit. His final warning. Yuffie knew this had been coming, almost from the moment Holy had saved the Planet, it still seemed as if somewhere an enormous glass had turned over. The first grains of sand sliding through her fingers, counting out the moments until... whatever end was coming.

Yuffie nodded, and smiled, loved touching him, pressing her finger against his lower lip until he opened his mouth up, to make the kissing really worthwhile. She shut her eyes, knew this part was just infatuation, the way the feel of his lips and tongue and teeth could send shivers down his spine, but that was no reason not to enjoy it. He wasn't a practiced kisser, but Cloud was so cautious, so shy that it made up for what he didn't know. She ran her hands through his hair, scratching a bit just to grin when he shivered.

"You've done an incredible thing for us, in this. The whole of Wutai will be in your debt, when it's all over."

Important to keep things from ever being entirely personal, to make sure she didn't linger too long, didn't look in his eyes too often, always spoke of love and war in equal measurements. There was a list of subjects likely longer than her arm, that she would never mention. Luckily, Yuffie had never been fond of writing lists, or playing cautious, and a thief's light touch was her best weapon here – Cloud certainly as great a challenge as any lock she'd ever picked.

The way he didn't smile, the way her words had struck deep – he hadn't done this for Wutai, and he didn't want to survive this, any more than he had survived the Crisis. False pride, to think she could do anything against that, against the demons he'd been fighting when she'd still been attacking imaginary monsters and breaking down walls with her first Shuriken. Naïve, and Yuffie would own up to being a great number of ridiculous things, but naivety was useless.

The sort of emotion that made a person pine in Kalm and tend bar and wonder why their childhood sweetheart-who-wasn't would ever leave them, when every answer had been laid so plainly at their feet. It wasn't honorable, to think such nasty things about people she'd fought beside, but it also hadn't been honorable to loot Tifa's materia on the way out the door.

Yuffie tipped forward again, pressing her head against his chest, listening to his heart, as Cloud put one arm around her. Carefully, he was always so terribly careful – afraid of himself as much as he was of hurting her. Yuffie wasn't afraid - it was a real heart she could hear beating, a human heart, no matter what he thought or feared or what had been done to him.

It would be easy to say she loved him, the words mostly all she could think, when he was around. Yuffie was half-certain he'd already known, though she'd done all she could to make him understand what that meant – from the very first time she'd pulled him onto the futon in her secret hiding place – door closed, no cats - and did all the things she'd been wanting to do since just after the Crisis. After she'd noticed just how carefully Cloud touched things, the way his body moved, muscles that couldn't lose their memory, built for fighting - and she'd wanted to see if a body like that could love.

He'd looked at her once, nothing like the way he'd looked at Aeris, just boy-stuff, noticing how her shorts clung to the very top of her thighs - but that was the gift she could give him. Allowing him to feel normal, if just for a moment, something she'd realized long ago - counting all the years he'd told her of on her fingers and toes – that he'd never had.

Saying she loved him wouldn't break the spell, wouldn't take him away, but it wouldn't change anything, either, and so Yuffie reluctantly pulled away, and turned, sliding her hand down his arm to grab at his, enjoying the way his fingers cupped hers.

"We should go. My father will be waiting."

"Mm..."

Yuffie arched an eyebrow, knowing his pretend-distraction from the real thing. "After that, my bed will also be waiting."

"Mm."

"It's not nice to keep my bed waiting, Cloud."

The same feeling as falling, scary and yet exciting, and maybe the real reason she loved him. Yuffie had always loved a challenge, loved the adventure and the not-knowing, not being sure that things would always turn out all right. It was a little frightening, turning back to look at him, because it was often so hard to tell what he would think of things, think of her. When just living was pushing him too hard, how could she do anything but be too forward?

She was going to lose him, and her love burned all the brighter for it. Ninjas loved like bottle rockets, and Cloud was smiling, and there was nothing to do but enjoy that moment of relief – one more day, she had him for one more day – and smile back.


	3. Chapter 3

The Mako withdrawal started while they were still in the woods, but Zack was amazed to discover how mild it actually was – yes, he still felt like falling over every few minutes, his body flashing hot and cold and threatening to collapse at any moment. Sharp piercing pains behind his eyes making it easier much of the time to just keep them shut – but he could still move, and keep moving, and that was all that was important.

Zack didn't even bother trying to count miles, unsure whether or not he was still losing bits of time, measuring the world only by the signs of pursuit – which he hadn't seen yet – and any sign that Cloud was starting to slip into Mako withdrawal himself, certain to be a thousand times worse than Zack's own. Except for the occasional moan, though, the kid was still as death, locked down in that other prison, the one Zack couldn't get him out of.

The SOLDIER had committed what, in some ways, was his first actual crime during the end of the second day, coming upon what seemed to be a hunting cabin somewhere in the Nibelheim woods. No current occupants, but it seemed to be in use, clothing and a bit of food and even a wallet with a decent stack of gil – Zack had taken all of those without hesitation, even snagging a few bottles of cheap beer, though he didn't dare drink them until he was certain the worst of the Mako sickness was over.

No use trying to eat either, or force anything into Cloud besides a little bit of water – thankfully the kid wasn't so far gone, able to manage swallowing, though Zack had to glance away from those strange, dead eyes. He'd seen what he thought was the worst of Mako-induced illness, but really there was no reason to assume Hojo hadn't done more, things that ShinRa had never intended to sign off on, or admit to.

The blue bag banged against his hip, tied off around his waist with what had once been the jacket's hood cord. Another shocking reminder he didn't need, of how much weight he'd lost, but Zack tried to ignore it, even as the second day slipped into the third and he was shaking so badly it was difficult to walk. He should have injected himself then, if he could have even gotten the needle in with his hands trembling so badly, but he could still _walk_, and Cloud – Cloud would need it more than he did, though the lack of symptoms from the blonde was starting to worry him greatly, Cloud still unresponsive, nearly comatose except for a groan now and then.

Day four was more pain than shaking, and finally saw them stumbling into civilization. Even the sight of painted, peeling signs and open ground amped up Zack's paranoia enough that he almost moved back into the trees and away, finally hovering just at the edge of the woods, studying everything carefully. Not much to the town besides a dirt road, a bar and what seemed to be the world's most decrepit motel, even considering his travels through the lower levels of Midgar. No sign of a trap, that ShinRa had anticipated his arrival here – and Zack couldn't help but laugh a little, wondered if they thought he was at all capable of making a plan past staying vertical as long as possible.

He left Cloud in the woods, considered tying him up but didn't want to restrain him for fear he would hurt himself by panicking. The kid was still as much a body-shaped sack of cement as anything, loose-limbed and unresisting – a corpse, dumped in the woods, wearing an ugly t-shirt proclaiming himself Costa Del Sol's number one beach bum.

If Zack started crying now, he wasn't going to be able to stop.

"All right, kiddo. I'm going to see if I can get us a room for the night."

"Urgh..."

"Atta boy, now you sound just like a real SOLDIER."

The painful attempt at humor made him want to scream, but Zack pushed hysteria back, trying and failing to insure he looked even somewhat human as he finger-combed his hair, smoothing wrinkles to make the most of his poorly-fitting clothes. At least he'd had the sense to ditch the soldier uniform for a set of civilian rags in the cabin, burying them well out of sight.

It was a short walk to the front door of the motel, but the moments stretched out painfully long as he tried to walk right, tried to think right, certain the expression on his face would reveal everything, fixed in a mask of absolute, unrelenting terror.

A small chime over the door, as he stepped inside, and just that simple sound nearly made his legs give way. Normal. Everywhere he looked, from the cheap carpeting to the peeling screens on the windows to the small television behind the desk – everything was completely normal. No tanks, no chemicals, the first normal he'd had in...

His eyes tracked to the television as a commercial flicked on, but after only a few moments the fast flicker of images was more than he could take, and as Zack pulled his gaze away, he saw the calendar.

_Oh god. Oh no, god._

It had seemed like ten lifetimes, trapped in that lab, and Zack knew he had no right to think they ever should have gotten out, let alone to a place like anything he knew. Still, staring at a date five years off from what he'd remembered, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He heard the person behind the counter shift, knew they must be staring at him and still he couldn't pull his eyes off the date. Five years. Five years in hell and now he could feel every moment of it crashing down on him.

"Can I help you?"

Panic came despite the lazy drawl in the question, the obvious indifference, and Zack was amazed his voice was steady at all.

"Is that current? The calendar?"

The woman glanced up lazily – and tore two more months away. Zack nodded, a tiny voice screaming there was nothing for him to nod at, that he was ruining everything and she would know, she would fucking _know_. At least it was enough to keep him from talking, asking questions, breaking down. Zack knew he had to be monosyllabic, had to keep from attracting attention, but all he wanted to do was just talk at her, talk and talk until all the words were out. How many words, how many?

_Five years worth. Five goddamn _years.

"You need a room, honey?"

Zack glanced at her, hoped he didn't look away before it seemed natural. Tried not to lose himself in staring at the walls, the lamp, the clock, all the wonderful, ugly, worn and dirty things that had nothing to do with a ShinRa lab.

_You gonna crack? You better not fucking crack._

"Yeah. Please."

The key felt strange in his hand, such a small thing still so unfamiliar, and Zack was both grateful and remarkably sad when she passed it to him without their hands touching. Somehow, he managed to grab the pen, even though his hand had cramped up painfully. His signature was nothing but a wobbly 'x,' though she didn't seem to notice.

"Last door on the left."

"Thanks."

Zack could almost count the words in that conversation on one hand, and he still hit the door breathless and shaking, nearly staggering back to the trees. Cloud was where he had left him, still staring into nothing with half-open eyes, lost as ever. He still didn't know what he could do for the kid, with a pretty damn far road to go for himself, before he could help anyone else out.

He remembered the TV, panicked for a moment, but there was no chance they'd put out an alert on them. ShinRa wanted to keep this as quiet as possible – whatever this was.

_Questions later. Answers later. Now, just get him clean and rested._

Real sleep. The concept seemed so novel Zack doubted he'd even have nightmares. At least the first night.

He skirted to the back of the motel, even though he couldn't see anyone, just to make sure no one watched him drag Cloud toward the room. Preparing a comment about over-drinking, just in case – in a place like this, it was quite likely people got drunk before noon, or just never stopped. The sound of the key in the lock seemed special, nostalgic, even though it took him several tries to get the door open and drag them both inside. Zack turned all his attention to Cloud after that, just easier that way, the kid's problems big enough to take up all of his worrying and then some.

It had taken him too much time, back in the woods, to get Cloud into his stolen clothes, and his hands kept slipping on the zippers and buttons even now that he didn't have to worry about being caught. His fingers were numbed and clumsy still, and this was wrong, so goddamned _wrong_ that his shy friend was now an empty shell, a doll. Wrong that kneeling on the old carpet, feeling the thin mattress and the cheap comforter beneath his hands made him _hurt_, the true measure of what he'd lost starting to take shape. His life was over. His future was destroyed. Who he'd been, all the people he'd known – he was as dead to himself as to any of them.

Five years gone. Half of them had probably forgotten his name.

Safe in the locked room, kneeling against the bed with his face buried in two of the pillows, Zack allowed himself a little hysteria. Just some tears and rambling curses and a bit of repressed screaming, grabbing on to the fury because at least, for a moment, it made him feel less helpless. He wasn't a poet, no need to be crazy about being crazy, just deal with it until it passed, and then do what needed to be done.

He wasn't going to lose it - not like Sephiroth. No no no, if only because he wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction.

_You're the only one left, to get revenge for all of you. Somehow. Somehow._

Zack wondered if he ought to write that down, just to make sure he remembered it.

The tears finally passed – at least for the moment, and Zack got Cloud up, undressed, and in the shower, which took long enough that he was shaking by the time he could free up one hand to turn on the water. Showering together, because his brain refused to handle trying to make any other plan, and Cloud couldn't stand up on his own, let alone deal with complex concepts like shampoo. Zack turned the heat up all the way, until all the air around him was a cloud of steam. It was almost warm enough to take the chill out of his blood.

It was damn hard to deal with a semi-conscious dead weight, harder yet when he was wet too. It was also damn difficult not to start laughing hysterically, wishing Cloud had anything he could use for a handle. The entire business was - the way it all had been, ever since Nibelheim - a Herculean strain on all his resources. For the most part it was all Zack could do to hold Cloud against the wall with one hand, clumsily shifting him underneath the spray, holding him up under one arm to scrub the shampoo on and rinse it away with his other hand.

Zack could remember when his friend had been shy to be seen without his shirt on, all but yelling bloody murder the first time Zack had walked in on him accidentally, just stepping out of the shower. It was infuriating, and amusing, and adorable – and he doubted he'd ever see it again.

_He's not gone. Cloud. Is. Not. Gone._

He had hoped, every moment since he'd broken that cylinder and dragged him out that something would connect, bring the kid back to this world. The rain or the breeze or the warm water after so many years of freezing. Cloud did not respond even now, still like a doll, completely unaware, pupils constricted to the tiniest of islands in the sea of burning blue. Painful to see, as painful as the places his hands kept marking on Cloud's skin, flawless as his own – unnatural, when there should have been so many cuts and bruises. Severely underweight – they both were – but the younger boy was still solid muscle. A powerful machine, with what was left of his humanity strung up in between, weak and useless and broken.

All the times he'd seen Cloud stare at him with longing, wanting to be what he was. All the damn heartbreak, when he'd been rejected from SOLDIER, humoring Zack and his attempts to make him feel better, though it was clear he'd never really keep from cutting himself on the broken dreams.

_Oh kid. Oh hell, kid, I'm so sorry._

In Hojo's lab, there had been no sense of time, no way to tell which event had followed which when so little had happened amidst so much horror. Difficult, sometimes, to tell what had been real, and what he only thought he'd heard or seen. He still remembered Cloud's eyes, wide and full of agony and sorrow at the beginning – pain that had nothing to do with the ordeal they were about to face. He'd seen the bloody mark then, and had done his best not to look at the scar now, though there was little way to avoid it. The only mark he still bore, on a back more defined, full of more power than it ever should have held. Zack touched it very gently, the sword wound just a little longer across than his index finger. He didn't need to see the scar in the front that would match it, to know that it was there.

Which meant that Cloud had been hit with the Masamune, and had still managed to win – somehow – when Zack had seen that sword tear unholy hell through more people, through fucking _armies_, and yet...

_He was crazy. He was crazy, and Seph was strong but being so damn smart, that was what made him invincible. Losing his mind made him vulnerable, and Cloud got _ridiculously_ lucky and..._

No wonder Hojo had taken exquisite care in his testing – punishment, if he wanted to put the right label on it. Cloud had killed his son, although Zack was damn certain family had nothing to do with the scientist's anger. Sephiroth had been Hojo's greatest invention, the ultimate weapon, a result of a lifetime of study and funding and design. Maybe he'd even _meant_ for all this to happen...

Zack nearly lost his grip on Cloud, his vision suddenly dimming as his heart started to race. He needed to stop having sudden revelations on top of his withdrawal, and the completely unnecessary panic attacks that sharpened the edges here and there.

Hojo must have _known_, must have known all along. He would have certainly protested Sephiroth going to Nibelheim... unless he knew what they would find there. Knew the SOLDIER would go over the edge and that nothing and no one would be powerful enough to stop him. A fluke, a random chance that Cloud had gotten in the way, and Zack wondered how Hojo had covered that up, what story he had told to cover up his involvement – if he'd really had to cover much at all. ShinRa would have been furious, to lose their great General, but certainly, if anyone knew enough to lie his way out of the situation, it was Hojo.

_Why? Why would he let his best weapon go mad?_

It would help, if Zack could remember much beyond fire and panic and realizing Sephiroth had fallen far beyond his reach. Too much to think about, the whole business was too much to think about when all Zack wanted to think about were moderately clean sheets and even well-worn pillows and real sleep. Sleep for about a year, then roll over and sleep on the other side.

First thing was first, he had to get himself clean, which meant giving up any hope of keeping the floor from turning into a lake, as he shut the water off for a moment and dragged Cloud's dripping body over the edge, too tired to do more than just drop most of the towels down and lay him on the bathroom floor. It was a bit of irony, for how sick he was, that Zack didn't have to take especially good care of him, no way a chill or perhaps even a bullet could make his condition worse.

He scrubbed until he was red, showered until the water went ice cold - and kept showering, until the numb on his skin was the echo of Mako and that had him slamming down on the water knob until he nearly broke it off. He couldn't shiver, SOLDIERs were designed to withstand much worse temperature drops than this without flinching, and Zack gritted his teeth and tried to resist the urge to slam his hands through the wall and pull and tear and break, to make the outside world just a little bit more like the one in his head.

_One minute at a time. All you have to do is keep moving._

By itself, that was difficult enough that he could justify shutting down the rest of his mind again. Running on automatic was easier than he wanted it to be, but Zack thought it was probably good to want and not want things at the same time. Being at odds with his own consciousness would keep him on his toes – and he had no doubt that, very soon, things were about to get a lot worse.

Five years. Five goddamned _years_ of his_ life_...

_Later. Deal with it later._

It took a long damn time to get Cloud up off the floor, to get them both in some state of dry and then to stagger back into the other room. Sit Cloud down on the bed, and he wanted so much to follow, just to fall over and curl up and stop thinking for as long as possible – but Zack's equilibrium was off, had been off ever since the thought that this had been staged, had been planned. Every moment in Sephiroth's life just leading up to Nibelheim and nothing, _nothing_ Zack had done or tried to do had made any damn bit of difference. Maybe Hojo had even known about him, and all that time Zack thought he'd outwitted the bastard, that he was actually running fairly good interference, never quite pushing enough to risk retribution – maybe the scientist had been laughing at him all the while.

_All those things you said you'd never do, Seph..._

"You could have done something. You always said you'd die before you let Hojo... and then the time comes and you play the perfect, clockwork soldier. Stupid bastard, you crazy stupid bastard. Five years, five years in that hell, because I trusted you."

Zack clutched the towel tightly in both hands, aware that if it had been anything other than fabric, he would have broken it into splinters by now. Playing by different rules of sanity now, where it was actually more sane to talk out loud, to stand naked in barely-habitable hotel rooms and growl obscenities at the memories of friends five years dead.

"How could you do it, you son of a bitch? How could you-"

"Acceptance was no longer an option."

The soft words were barely audible above the sound of his own breathing – but he had heard them, and they had come from Cloud, still staring blankly into space. His words.

No, not his words at all, were they?

_Oh shit. What the unholy shit...?_

"Kid? Strife?"

Zack barely whispered the words, wary as all hell and all too aware that he would need several more months of recovery to even begin to deal with the questions, the fears swirling around in his head. Trying to deal with the fact that he might need to recover his strength, just to handle Cloud. For all the time he'd spent wishing the kid would answer him, Zack was grateful when Cloud said nothing, didn't look at him, or anything else. He could try to pretend everything hadn't suddenly slipped into painful, terrifying focus, a truth he'd wanted revealed that he realized was too much, far too much...

Zack was more tired than he'd ever been, but it still took him a very long time to move.

* * *

After ShinRa had taken control of Wutai - adding insult to grave injury by planting bureaucrats, not even military men, in all the positions of power formally held by the clans – Godo had turned the ancient meeting hall into a storeroom. Piled it high with all the symbols of his ancestors, objects of deep reverence and his country's pride, and locked the door behind him, and never looked back. ShinRa had used his position as figurehead to come down harder on him than any other, did whatever they could to mock and abuse him, as a sign of their own strength. An example to the Wutai people, of how far they had fallen, and Godo could bear shutting away all that had been, knowing his father's banners and grandfather's weapons were gathering dust, rather than see them burned to ash.

Lord Godo had given up his country to save it, and it had cost him his dignity, and the respect of his daughter, perhaps even her love. Now, he might just have the opportunity to earn it all back.

ShinRa's hold had weakened considerably after the Crisis, and all those cherished relics had long since returned to a place of glory in his home, the bureaucrats cast adrift to the sea, to paddle back to less hostile shores. A less than kind command, many places in the world no longer as tolerant of ShinRa rule as they had once been.

The meeting room itself had been barely touched, until just a few days ago. Godo had supervised the restoration himself, floors polished to a high shine and banners for all the gathering clans hung high at their appointed marks, all the world's most vivid hues. He remembered sitting by his father's side as a child in this room, looking forward to the day when he would sit at the head of the assembly. He'd always believed, when he arrived there, the whole world would stretch before him clearly. The battles to be fought, the course to be charted.

He'd been defeated by ShinRa, and then given an unexpected second chance at redemption, during the Crisis that had followed. More than ever, though, Godo realized he had no idea what would come of all of this. The weight of his family's armor was a slight comfort on his shoulders, but he wished any of their counsel had been able to accompany it.

"The rooms have all been prepared. The Scorpions were sharing a wall with the Crane clan, so I moved them into opposite corners."

Godo had not heard his daughter behind him, likely would not have until she chose to announce herself. It was another reminder, of the way things once had been. Yuffie's mother had been a sweet-tempered, gentle woman, but her grandmother – Lord Godo's mother – had been the real power behind the clans in her time, and Yuffie was following her path, if not more so. Godo knew his position as clan head was seen by most as a familial honor, more symbolic than truthful.

He had worried a little, how she would choose to attend, but Yuffie had dressed in her finest kimono, all muted tones, dark greens and blues and blacks. The colors of Leviathan, the mark that she was in attendance as the future lady of Wutai. Her hair was not long enough for more than a simple clip, and she wore no other adornments, not even a smile. He had grown so accustomed to rebuking her childish antics, her limitless rebellions, that it felt rather sad to realize how far those days had passed into memory.

Yuffie took in the room with a confident nod. "It looks beautiful."

"So do you."

It earned him at least a startled glance, the slight quirk of her mouth. Yuffie had done all her growing up far away from him, and they were still just getting to know each other. She was still forgiving him, for abandoning the fight, laying down for the ShinRa in the old war – and truly, he was still forgiving himself.

Propriety meant everything, in places such as these, all the customs and rules easily as important as what would be said. It was vital that they were seated first, so that the clan leaders would be able to show them the proper respect on entering. Godo cast his eyes up, just for a moment, above the raised platform to where the Masamune rested, nearly long enough to span the entire wall. Cloud's by right of combat, but presented to Wutai as a gift, and if Godo thought the ex-SOLDIER cared at all for his good opinion, he might have understood why. Of course, nothing about Cloud Strife was that easy.

He'd done a great deal against his own people, and planned to do much more – to lead a war against them, and Godo had not yet seen Cloud show any restraint, no sign he had any intent but utter destruction. Maybe it was all just revenge, vengeance against those who had wronged him, although that didn't make Godo's heart any less heavy. How could he watch Yuffie pursue a man who seemed to hold so little sacred, or valuable – who seemed so empty inside?

Godo had asked him once, what his intentions were toward his daughter. He'd thought he'd sounded threatening, or at least serious, but Cloud had simply turned to him with eyes at once bitter and sad and terribly distant, and said nothing. When Godo had pushed the question, Cloud had only laughed, short and sharp, and walked away without answering. Mentioning Cloud to Yuffie had been an even worse idea, leading her to remind him how she hadn't needed him growing up, hadn't asked his leave to save the world, and didn't require his help now.

Just to twist the knife, she'd reassured him that the things ShinRa had done to Cloud would insure no half-foreign bastards might ever hold the Wutai throne.

"Would he, though? At your side?"

It was a gentle question, because Godo was already sure he knew the answer. The look she'd turned away with one he'd never wanted to see on his proud daughter's face. Cloud did not love her. Godo thought it quite likely he could not love at all, another piece of his humanity ShinRa and their science had burned away.

Wutai needed Cloud, to win this war, while Cloud needed nothing, maybe not even a reason to fight. Godo wondered if he would have understood, why Yuffie seemed determined to stick by him, if he had played any part in his daughter's life for the last decade – but he hadn't, and there was no way to regain what had been lost.

Seated on the platform, he shifted, hoping he could remember all the little gestures and familiarities – though it was easier, as Lord of Wutai, to get away with mistakes. As if most of the eyes in the room wouldn't be on Cloud anyway – the only foreigner among them, and ex-ShinRa or not he was still ShinRa and for all Godo knew he was going to walk in wearing the uniform. He didn't know any customs and sure as hell didn't care and -

"He'll be here. Don't worry." Yuffie had noticed, if misjudged, his tension. "I think he's a little nervous."

Godo let out a soft bark of laughter – hard to be nervous when you weren't even human – and regretted it immediately, seeing the slight frown on his daughter's face. Nothing he could do, even if Cloud hadn't chosen that moment to come into the room, and Godo realized yet again that he'd underestimated the Lady Yuffie Kisaragi, future ruler of all Wutai.

"Good morning, Lord Godo," Cloud said, all stately grace in the regal blue formal kimono, sash with just the lightest hint of a pattern – scales, to match Yuffie's, and there was no question that it was merely coincidence, that he wasn't making a statement to anyone who wanted to acknowledge it. No question she hadn't picked it out, or helped him into it.

Cloud bowed - just the right amount, just the right angle – but if there was any of the nervousness Yuffie had suggested, Godo couldn't see it. Nothing, try as he might he could see _nothing_ in those unnatural, glowing eyes, even as his mouth cut into the slightest of smiles, glancing at Yuffie, before he passed behind them to take his place on the platform. A little surprising, that he was even here. The ex-SOLDIER had made his position and preferences very clear. Cloud did not negotiate. Cloud rarely stayed in the same room for more than two moments put together.

It was going to be an interesting meeting.

No reason not to expect a full turnout – all the clans knew that a war with ShinRa was a war for them all. Godo turned his attention away from Cloud, and focused on keeping his expression fixed and imposing, hearing the slight jingle of a bell, announcing that the first of the leaders had arrived.

None of them were as he remembered, from the days of gleaming swords and banners ever-unfurled, when all they'd had to fight was each other. ShinRa had exploited that weakness in the past, and Godo hoped that even the clans who had benefited from the civil wars had now seen the true cost of a Wutai brought to ruin.

The Turtle clan was first through the door, and bowed deepest – they had been fiercely loyal to Godo's sovereignty, but had taken some of the most grievous damage during the war, decimated nearly out of existence. Godo could see the marks and scuffs on the armor of the clan chief, even though it was highly polished. The leather ties replaced with fabric stays, all flaws hidden as carefully as possible, every attempt made to return to that glory of the past though it was clearly beyond them.

In comparison, the head of the Shark clan stepped in with his head high, and a bow that would have counted for treason had Godo had any real power to challenge it. His armor was brand-new, a custom creation that stood out among the ranks of the tattered but faithful. Of course, he'd prospered quite well after cutting a deal with the ShinRa during the war, betraying them all for the chance to lick at the heels of their new masters. Gained money and power and reputation - but his eldest daughter had just died, a victim of the same drugs that had helped the clan gain its fortune – nasty opiates that ShinRa had helped introduce to the country. Godo could see the anger in his eyes, the betrayal - and since he was already a traitor it wasn't difficult to think he would turn on ShinRa as quickly as he had on them. Revenge was fun that way.

The rest of the room filled up quickly, Godo rather surprised at how many old faces had been replaced with elder sons, but all the clans were present - had come to speak with him, to plan for war. The moment he leaned forward, silence filled the room.

"It has been too long, since we have gathered here freely, and it is not our own strength that has led to this sudden turn, but it is our strength that will determine what will happen now."

Just in case any of them thought he didn't notice the blonde-haired, blue-eyed ex-SOLDIER sitting next to the Lady of Wutai, that the Lord might choose to take credit for what was in no way his victory. More than one set of eyes had flicked up to the Masamune, and then to Cloud – everyone knew the story, and that he was in attendance only confirmed that truth.

"You are all here, at what is still an illegal council, because the ShinRa have been driven from the capitol, but they will return. The son has usurped the father – Rufus ShinRa seeks to dominate the world, to bring it to his heel, and he will not stop until he has done so. We can expect no truce, no negotiation – but he no longer has his father's army. The great soldiers of the past are gone, and cannot be replaced by what Rufus' company has become. ShinRa's greatest warrior is dead – and the man who destroyed him is our ally."

A slight shifting among the assembly, the sound amplified by the fact they were all wearing armor. It was a great task, asking them to accept a foreigner as their key weapon – but then again, Godo supposed he wasn't really asking.

"When will the first attack begin?"

"It's already begun." Dead silence, as Cloud spoke up, a mark against most every code of honor and rule there was. Of course, since he wasn't supposed to be there anyway, Godo supposed the rules didn't really apply.

"ShinRa knows they are no longer unchallenged, although they have yet to make a connection to Wutai. To realize that this is any greater than the sum of their own hubris, history catching up. If everything takes place correctly, they will not realize their mistake for quite some time."

His voice was so calm, as if he were only musing, none of them there at all and none of this of any importance. The damned boy was mad, no mistaking that, and if they all hadn't watched the Crisis happen, he would have thought Cloud had no intention but to get them all killed. Godo glanced over at his daughter's face, but Yuffie was staring straight ahead, no sign that she had any intention of rebuking his words – and so he said nothing, as if he agreed to it all. Godo had the very disconcerting feeling he'd be doing a lot of that from now on.

"You're the ghost soldier, then." The Shark clan's leader, quite satisfied to see Cloud in attendance, recognizing a certain brutal kinship. "One of ShinRa's experiments that turned on them, one of the last there will ever be. They say you're immortal, that you can't be killed."

Cloud didn't turn his head to acknowledge the clan head, probably hadn't been paying enough attention to care which one had spoken.

"I am here today on behalf of a much greater power. The Planet itself will side with Wutai, when you go to war. ShinRa has betrayed us all for the last time."

Such a statement might have seemed ridiculous to most - Godo knew the ShinRa only spoke in terms of science. Of figures and rules that made all the world human-sized, to be manipulated as they saw fit. It was a foolish attempt, and had nearly destroyed the entire Planet when the Meteor came down, and they had not learned from their mistake. Godo understood science, but he /believed/ in other powers, greater powers that men should never seek to control. No one could argue that Cloud Strife had been touched by that power, changed into something other than simply human. He walked the path between worlds, and only a damned fool would not call it sacred.

"What will the Planet give us, then, that could aid in such a fight?"

A slightly hostile question from the Crane clan, and it was true that though the Planet might make demands it might also expect them to make fortresses of sandcastles. Cloud didn't even blink.

"They gave you me."

It was more than a little presumptive, such a claim, such a call to battle – he was breaking so many rules here, a foreigner with no idea of his place. It would have been ego, if he hadn't been the one to stop the Crisis. Godo was sure at least half the room thought he had no place here at all – but even if Cloud couldn't win the battle single-handedly, he'd probably been working on this before anyone else had known there would be a war.

_Unless he's crazy, and attacking Junon didn't mean a damn thing at all._

"We will divide their forces between Wutai and the mainland. At the moment ShinRa is most distracted, you will attack. ShinRa will have no chance to succeed, and be forced to withdraw permanently – and they will not return."

"How can we divide their forces?

Cloud finally grinned. He looked like a demon.

"ShinRa will be preoccupied with the destruction of many of their most vital Mako reactors – among a few other concerns. The war on this front will be your concern, and the war elsewhere will be mine. I know how ShinRa works, I have been everywhere that their poison can touch. I know their strengths, and their weaknesses, and what it takes to bring them down forever."

"You would do this," the leader of the Shark again, very intrigued, though after this meeting Godo knew Cloud wouldn't even remember he was alive. "Fight against your own people?"

"As you said, I am the last of my kind. I have no people, save those I choose to call allies. ShinRa has taken everything from me, all I want is to return that favor."

A lie, Godo was sure of it, though he didn't know quite why. Cloud finally glanced across the room, and Godo watched as certain chiefs looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

"I only make one demand of you, one order. Rufus ShinRa is mine to deal with. No one touches him, for any reason."

The leader of the Crane clan leaned forward, finally goaded by being given an order from his former enemy, the challenge clear in his gaze.

"What happens if that rule becomes... inconvenient?"

Cloud looked back, no steel or threat in his eyes. Nothing at all.

"I bring the full wrath of the Planet down on Wutai and sink it into the sea."


	4. Chapter 4

The meeting went on for hours, half the clans feigning deep offense at Cloud's pronouncement, posturing with everything they had to argue for whatever they wanted – land, information, a better position for their fighters, when the war started. The same ancient bickering that had lost them the country the first time, though if Yuffie had her way she'd have heads on pikes before she let any of these idiots repeat the past.

Cloud would help, or so he'd implied, though he'd said nothing since laying down his terms – really, was there anything more to be said?

_Why Rufus, though? Why care what happens to him?_

It might be as simple as revenge. Cloud hadn't simply gone to Midgar and put his sword through the President's heir because he wanted to tear the empire down around him first – watch, as ShinRa saw his world crumble. Returning the favor, and his threats held a great deal more weight than the significantly less incredible warnings now filling the room.

Cloud was willing to destroy Wutai, to achieve his goal, and that should have stood against everything she should have cared about, all she'd been raised to believe in. It was damn near a sin, to care more about his reasons why than about her own people. Yuffie had waited for answers, then for any suggestion that her instincts were right – that the surface of Cloud's words were only hiding the real danger, the real truth.

If she hadn't been sitting next to him, Yuffie never would have heard it, not above the chaos of the clans. Even then, she wasn't quite sure of the sound. A quiet gasp, the muted reaction to a landed blow, and a barely audible hiss as Cloud breathed in.

He hadn't moved, watching the room with a flat, bored expression – but she could see his hand resting against the ground, arm loose but fist tightly clenched, his knuckles stark white and his whole hand shaking.

Time slowed to an agonizing crawl after that, as the bickering continued and Yuffie watched Cloud out of the corner of her eye. Minutes passing in agony, while he betrayed nothing. How long had this been going on? Before the meeting? Was this what had led him to make the threat in the first place?

Her father didn't understand, and Yuffie knew she was one of the only ones who was allowed to know, to realize just how much of Cloud's strength, the ways ShinRa had warped his body, the power – how much of it was bluff, and how fragile the truth really was.

Cloud shivered, a movement so brief and muted there was nearly no sign – she had to be looking for it, to see the signs after he had been so careful to cover up all the signs. Yuffie wanted to take his hand, wanted to shout the meeting to a close and get them both out of here, but she had relinquished those benefits of being carelessly immature when she had returned to the clan as a war hero, a future ruler. She couldn't even look into his eyes, to give him any sign that she knew, that she was there for him – though she was already aware how painfully little that would mean.

Yuffie let the voices of the arguments fade out around her – her father could deal with it, and if not, it would give her the perfect excuse to call the meeting to close. She needed to get Cloud back to her rooms, a painfully long walk across several open courtyards, with a risk that any number of people would see what he'd tried so desperately to hide. He'd gone through this before – too many times – but it had never started in so public a forum, and she wondered if he'd had warning. If Cloud knew what would happen, but came to the meeting anyway, to say his peace.

_Why is ShinRa's life worth anything to him, let alone..._

Lord Godo finally held up one hand, effectively silencing the last of the bickering, the clans grudgingly acknowledging his power. Godo canted his head, an obliging gesture – though he did not look anywhere near Cloud. Angry, at what he'd said, at what he'd threatened. At least he knew he had no right to call her on it, was probably angry enough that he wouldn't bother either of them.

"I did not expect matters to be fully decided in a single meeting, but I am not surprised to hear that I may have your full support, once the terms have been set. A full banquet is waiting for all of you, and rooms for the night. We will adjourn for now, and I hope you will enjoy our hospitality."

Yuffie all but held her breath as the clans made to leave, sending out the most vulgar, silent curses she had for every fold of cloth that caught beneath a cushion or spare second spent balancing around unwieldy armor. Cloud had not moved, and she was starting to wonder if he would be able to, when the last aide stepped out the door and they were alone, her father quickly turning on the ex-SOLDIER.

"What did you think you were doing? What sort of threat was that?"

Godo hissed, any anger at the rest of the meeting dwarfed by his fury over Cloud's warning. Her stomach, twisted in knots, was still no preparation for the easy way Cloud took to his feet, looking for all the world like a lazy gangster, staring down at Godo in a move that broke several laws of conduct and – had this been another time, in another place – would have instantly gotten him beheaded.

"The true kind, Lord Godo. Idiots like that take up space better served by nothing at all. The things we decide here are more important than clan or heritage or rules – or at least faking all those necessary honors. I want them to know that, so if any of them decide they know better, I can kill them before the real war begins."

No hint of pain in his voice, and his hands were loose at his sides, no suggestion of anything but that cool disdain, ever-present boredom for everything and everyone around him. With no further preamble, no gesture of homage, Cloud stepped off the dais, moving with his usual, fluid grace, ignoring the pathways the others had followed for a straight line to the door. Yuffie bit her lip, and rose to follow, when a hand caught at the corner of her kimono.

"I will kill him, if he seeks to destroy this alliance."

It was not her father's tone, but the tone of the Lord who was one of the only people to face Sephiroth in battle and survive. "If he seeks more destruction, Yuffie, he cannot be allowed... I am not fool enough, to think that he makes idle threats, even though I cannot imagine-"

Of course he could imagine. After Sephiroth, they all could imagine. He tried to meet her eyes, but she quickly looked away.

"If there is a sign, a warning - you must do it, Yuffie. As the future leader of Wutai, you must protect your people."

_Every twenty minutes,_ Yuffie thought bleakly, _Every twenty minutes I remember why I left and didn't look back._ It was even odds, if she would die before she remembered why she'd returned.

Yuffie nodded, because it was what her father wanted, and had to fight not to run out the door. All an act, all the things her father hated in Cloud, all the words – sometimes she wondered what was left of the man she loved, beneath all the pretending. Cloud was walking swiftly, hadn't changed pace from when he'd left the meeting hall, and Yuffie had to shuffle to catch up to him, frowning at the edge of her kimono for refusing to turn into pants. One corner turned, and another, he still hadn't looked at her, hadn't acknowledged her, and Yuffie's palms were wet, clutching the edges of her sleeves.

"Are we alone?"

A soft tremor in his voice, which meant he was reaching the very end of his stamina – and her father would continue to think he was invincible, because he never saw Cloud when those blue eyes couldn't see him back. Yuffie had his hand in the next second – cold, frozen – and when they turned the next corner his knees buckled for a moment and he pressed his face against her shoulder with a tight whimper.

"Can you get back?" She breathed. It was much closer to her childhood hiding place, but less comfortable, less ready to give him what he might need. Cloud was shaking all over, breathing hard, and she felt him try to steady himself and falter, quickly gritting his teeth to try again.

"So angry. God, they're so angry..."

The Planet – she never had to ask, it never changed. No one ever tortured him like those he'd sworn to serve.

"What is it, Cloud? What's happened?"

No answer, just a half-choked sob, and Yuffie had to strain not to drop him against the floor, put her back to the wall and focused it all on keeping him standing until the fit passed and some of his strength returned. Cloud staggered, swaying, gazing into some unseen darkness Yuffie never wanted to know, eyes flashing so brilliantly she kept waiting for the clap of thunder.

"Breathe. Just breathe. I'll go slow."

Fragments of old lullabies her mother would sing to her floated past, but none of those were anything like what they must have sang in Nibelheim. None of them would be any help to him now, and all Yuffie could do was keep Cloud from falling, murmuring soothing nonsense until the fit passed. He took her arm, until he could get his balance back, but there was no strength left for the appearance of an easy stride, and once they were out of danger of being seen, he had her arm in a tight grip. Leaning more and more heavily on her, until he could drop limply onto the bed they'd shared, curling up into a tight, shaking ball.

"Never thought... nnnn... should have told me... not that it matters."

Cloud was gone the moment he fell, lost in a bitter delirium as Yuffie tried to turn down the bed from underneath him. Burning hot now, if he had been human she would have been terrified – she was still worried, but it was more a heartsick ache than fear for his life. Hard to tell what would be enough to kill him – he'd asked her, whispers in the night, if anything could – but these attacks ground down on the rest of him, heart and soul, when it seemed he'd had so little left to lose.

"My lady," a servant stepped into the room, bowing. Yuffie didn't know how the girl knew to find her, knew that she would be needed, but the handmaidens she'd inherited when she'd returned to the fold were indispensable indeed. The girl had a pot of cool water in one hand, condensation beading on the upper rim, and a set of thick towels under her other arm. Yuffie took a look back at Cloud, and shook her head, watching him twist and whimper.

"I'll need the others. We should carry him to the bath."

Thank all the little gods she had a full set of private quarters, and these girls never spoke a word of what they saw, fiercely loyal. Silent, too, Yuffie barely heard a noise behind her but when she turned back around four stood where only the one girl had been before, bowing courteously. Slim but strong, trained to be bodyguards not because she needed it, but because redundancy was the best defense.

It still took all but one to move him, drawing a blanket under him to use as a pallet while one girl drew the water. Cloud was compact but it was all muscle, his slight form disguising the weight. Yuffie stepped backward, tugging at the edges of her dress kimono to loosen them, the folds of fabric slipping from her shoulders when they reached the other room. Priceless fabric cast away without a second thought, kicked into a rumpled pile in the corner. The maids were busy ridding Cloud of his clothing as she stepped into the bath, wincing at the chill - but she'd washed in ice cold waterfalls before, back when she thought such things were a sign of bravery and determination – or when she'd lost all the money for a proper inn on the slowest chocobo in the race.

Gently, Cloud was lowered into the water, coming awake as she pulled him close to her. The handmaids quickly made their exit, one of them taking up Cloud's kimono, while another gathered up her own, sliding the door silently shut behind them.

"... Aeris?" Blue eyes fluttered, painfully bright, still not focusing anywhere near her, his voice a tight, confused whisper. Expecting pain and betrayal, always.

"Sssh. It's me, Yuffie. You're safe. Do you remember where you are?"

A short, frightened shake of the head at that, and Cloud had been in enough places in his life, where that sort of vulnerability was beyond lethal, that she could understand the fear.

"Water?" Cloud struggled a little, raising one hand just far enough to let a few drops fall on his face, testing the world to see what was true and what was dream. "No, no Aeris – Yuffie. No, please."

"I know, I know you don't like it, but you have to cool down. It will make you feel better." Yuffie tightened her grip around his arms, ever so slightly. She understood his fear, what floating away must have felt like, to someone who'd drowned in the Lifestream. "I'm right here, and you're safe."

His eyes squinted shut before he could answer, and all she could do was hold him as he shuddered. Still beautiful - if anything the strain only cut his muscles into more perfect definition. Hojo's work? Had he been there, to watch Cloud twist and writhe, to make sure he was beautiful even when he suffered? Yuffie buried another black curse in the back of her mind, that she hadn't known the worst of it until years after the fact, with Hojo long since past the reach of her weapons.

"... zack? I'm tired, Zack. Want to sleep, just let me..." Cloud gasped, breath shuddering, tossed in and out of memory. "Do you think he... forgives me? Do you think... it doesn't matter, does it? Does it, Zack?"

Yuffie was a little more alarmed, as Cloud continued to whisper to himself, that defeated, weary voice, mocking its own desire to keep living. Usually, he only strayed into the recent past, cursing Rufus for a Planet that needed his voice to speak, spitting out his old teammates' names with scorn and derision – or the worst of it, when he pleaded bitterly with her to understand, to forgive him for sins yet to be committed.

Cloud's face broke in a violent scowl, his voice sharp and bitter. "You know what I wish... you know... you _know_, damn it..."

Yes. Yuffie knew what he wished. Knew it to the number.

Four. Little lights in folded paper boats, set out on the water on the holy days, and Yuffie burned one for her mother, and one for Aeris, even though she thought Aeris might be watching, somehow, and wouldn't need the light to know her way home. Cloud burned four – one for his own mother, and one for Aeris. One for his friend Zack, the one who'd gotten him out of Nibelheim, who'd died saving his life – though Yuffie hadn't asked about that, and never questioned who the fourth candle was for.

* * *

It was Vincent who had given her that answer, long ago, one night during that long in-between time, with the Meteor in the sky and coming closer by the day. Aeris was dead, Tifa and Cloud were off not talking to each other, Cid and Barrett chatting softly about the ship, or women, or spare parts - the verbal equivalent of munching peanuts at the bar. Vincent was talking to Nanaki in an upper room, and Yuffie was listening in from a convenient air duct – hardly her fault that snooping made conversations much more interesting. Even if her two strange traveling companions felt the need to talk like old men in her village, sparse words with long pauses.

"I wonder how Cloud will go through with it." Vincent remarked in the quiet way he always did, as if nothing in the world made the least difference to him. Nanaki lifted his head.

"You think there will be a problem?"

Red eyes narrowed, but gently. Yuffie had always been unnerved by the former Turk, if only for how little he compared to other men in his profession. Nothing in him suggested violence, or anger, and she thought it just might be worth shredding all her clothes and turning into a monster every time she fought too hard, to keep such an unnatural calm the rest of the time.

"In the end, I don't think so – at least not for you or I. Tifa..." Vincent cut himself off before the sentence could get interesting, as Yuffie tried hard not to grumble aloud. "It may not be, that I question Cloud's ability. I simply wonder what will be left of him at the end of it. We use him, because there is no other choice, but that may not equal absolution." It was almost a shame she could see his expression so clearly, as it told her nothing at all.

"Cid was never convinced Cloud gave up the Black Materia entirely out of his own control."

Well, that was news to her. Maybe she really needed to stop thinking that everything Cid did or said was so damn boring. Or she could just hang out in air ducts more often. It wasn't even all that uncomfortable.

Nanaki was quiet for a long time – long enough that even a stupid ninja girl would start to get the hint. It wasn't just a random conversation they were having, or a battle plan – important revelations were hovering in the air between them, adult things, and she lacked the lion's nose to scent them out.

"Are you sure?" He finally growled, his voice very soft.

"Yes." Vincent shifted silently against the wall. "It may be hubris, to think I have something in common – but to love and lose, I can see it in him. I see the way he hides it from everyone."

_Loss? Aeris? Why would it matter? Everyone already knows..._

"Sephiroth was admired – idolized, and ShinRa did all they could to fan those flames, to show him off at any opportunity as proof of their strength and power. Certainly, those who did not at the least admire him would have been hard to find – and maybe there is little difference, in wanting to be something, and wanting to be loved by it?"

_Wait. No. No way is he saying –_

Nanaki seemed nonplussed, though the statement was confusing enough that Yuffie felt as if she'd fallen right out of the duct. "Do you think the others know?"

"Cid is always more bitter than serious – wanting to place blame. Cloud reveals nothing, as blank a force of nature as his namesake. Yuffie, I believe, will keep her silence, or I'll weld her in the duct and toss her overboard."

The ninja girl couldn't help the squeak, and dragged herself forward, secrecy already compromised, unlatching the gate in front of her, glaring at the ex-Turk as Nanaki's tail flared in silent amusement.

"Cheater." A few extra wiggles, and she was able to grab the edge and flip herself down, landing silently on the deck between them. "Cloud doesn't love Sephiroth – that's just stupid. It doesn't make any sense at all."

She wanted to add that it was obvious, Cloud loved Tifa – but her mind always moved faster than her mouth, pointing out all the times Tifa had been hurting and Cloud did not move to comfort her. How she was always reaching, but he only reached back when there was no other choice. How Cloud spoke about Nibelheim, about the lab – sparingly - but rarely about ShinRa, and never about Sephiroth. Never more than a few words. Never more than was already obvious.

_Of course, who the hell wants to sit around chatting about their worst enemy all the damn time?_

Especially if that enemy had been otherwise, once.

Vincent was, as always, nonplussed by her protests. "Maybe I only see my own regrets, reflected back at me. I seek phantoms of pain, when we already have so many foes." With his smooth voice it was impossible to tell if he believed any of it or not. "I hope it is so. I hope Cloud faces a stranger, with nothing in his heart but determination. If it is otherwise, he will be owed a debt that no one can repay."

* * *

"Yuffie? Yuffie, please..."

Skin to skin, the ninja girl could feel when his temperature finally started to fall, though he still seemed to be in agony, struggling against her, fighting as hard as he could against the demons beneath his skin. Except they weren't demons, weren't unknown, weren't even remnants of Jenova that somehow, maybe, could be destroyed, hunted down and eliminated.

Aeris had been wrong, or perhaps her death had changed everything, in ways none of them had expected. The Cetra were not kind. The Cetra did not care, not about humans, not even those who had saved the Planet. Her father did not understand, it was not Cloud who called them up, who ordered them to destroy. He was the last thing holding them back, from crumbling all of humanity down into the Lifestream, and starting anew.

It was slowly killing him, day by day, eating right through his spirit – and Cloud allowed it, held on to that power that would burn him to ash, just to keep them all alive.

"How do we stop them, Cloud? What do they want? What haven't you given them already?" Yuffie would give them what they wanted, if she could – but hadn't Cloud already done so? The war against ShinRa, against the Mako reactors they'd been stupid enough to bring back online? He was fighting their war, doing exactly what they wanted, and this was how the Cetra repaid him?

He could hardly speak, rigid in her arms, his breathing fast and shallow. Very nearly a seizure, and she clutched him more tightly, making sure he wouldn't slip beneath the water.

"I don't... can't... they won't tell me. Don't care if I know what's wrong, don't care at all. Why should I matter to them? Angry, so angry..." His hand came up, clutching tight and very nearly breaking her wrist, a sign of how far gone he was, when he was always so terribly careful. "Don't leave me. Please. I can't find my way back. I can't..."

Yuffie held him as he thrashed, somewhat grateful for the buoyancy of the water, giving her a little less gravity to fight against, and with how much water was sloshing out of the tub he wasn't at much risk of drowning. The fit seemed to last forever, more violent and far worse than the others, and she held on, white-knuckled against his body and just trying to keep from cracking her head against the back of the tub.

Easy to let her mind wander ahead, to tamp down on all the fear and aggravation and frustration, and take it out on the ShinRa when they finally met in battle. Cloud had already made it clear, he wanted her at his side when that war came. At first, Yuffie had wondered how it would feel, fighting against the comrades who she'd helped save the world. It was becoming less and less of a problem, with each time Cloud was dragged down by the Planet's screams of rage. Each time the Cetra punished him because he wouldn't let them punish everyone else, for even /thinking/ of touching a Mako reactor again.

_Is it worth it, Tifa? Barrett? Cid? All your twinkling lights, all your easy days? Is it worth it, when you're not the one who has to suffer?_

With a weak moan, Cloud went fully limp in her arms, and as she shifted Yuffie could tell he'd finally passed out. With a silent prayer that he wouldn't wake up soon, she did her best to keep his head above water while she scrambled out of the tub. A pair of strong hands was helping her at once, and then another - her maids well practiced in knowing when she needed them. It took no time at all before Cloud was dry, and tucked back into bed, his unnatural fever suddenly plummeting to an equally vicious chill.

Yuffie spared a smile for the women as they left, and dimmed the lights, slipping down next to Cloud just as his face contorted with another hiss of pain, coming awake much sooner than was merciful.

If only a Sleep spell would work, even to take the edge off, but nothing that came from the Lifestream could help, not when it was their attack that made him suffer. Nothing worked, not well enough to bother, though they had tried everything, until Cloud was injecting vials of the most illegal drugs in their purest form. Drugs that, parceled out in tiny doses, were still strong enough to kill a dozen men. And ShinRa wondered why Wutai had been so sure they'd been summoning demons to put in their SOLDIERS.

"Can you hear me? Cloud?" No, but she nestled close anyway, whispering truths like fairy tales gently against his ear. "You're in Wutai. You're safe. We know what you've done, what you've taken on yourself. The ShinRa are too weak to admit it, but we know there are powers greater than ourselves, and how to respect them. I know what you've done, and I'll protect you as much as I can, for as long as I can. I promise."

"Zack... Zack, please..."

The soft pleading trailed off into mumbled, broken Wutainese, words Yuffie had never taught him. The first time she'd heard him speak her language, it hadn't meant anything, because he hadn't meant anything, AVALANCHE just another name for 'easy mark.'

Well, maybe not so easy, but between the man with the gun arm and the enormous mountain lion Yuffie had been looking forward to an entertaining challenge. It had taken a little longer to realize why Cloud stood as their unofficial leader – just one fight, to see that the sword he carried really was as heavy as it looked, but that he could cut enemies down faster than she could track the movements. That his eyes weren't just a Mako burn from too much exposure – they meant exactly what his uniform meant they did.

Of course, she'd learned that even those close observations weren't entirely true. Once she'd decided to join them - or at least, when they'd made it clear they'd chase her all over the better part of two continents to retrieve their materia.

_Not to mention all that business with that fat, old hentai._

Life had been much easier before she'd met them, after she'd declared autonomy from her father and her country, from everything. A life of fighting monsters and scamming rubes – and convincing herself she wasn't running away, that she never looked back not because the future was more interesting, but because disappointment taunted her, always, from the past.

At first, it was hard to take AVALANCHE seriously, such an odd group of fighters with such slim connections to bind them. Mostly a grudge against ShinRa – as if she had any problem understanding that. Barrett was gruff, though she knew he saw her as just a little older version of his own child – which had immediately inspired her to break out the most vulgar jokes she knew, and even flirt with Cid, a way to disturb the hell out of both men at once.

It had been amusing to watch Tifa, Cloud and Aeris try not to step on each others toes. Made her laugh, to watch them dance about, never quite fighting or talking. Always seemingly on the verge of some sort of action, but never quite having the bravery to leap in. Of course, Aeris had never been playing that game – she must have known, had always known her place in the world, and how she would leave it. Cruel of her, maybe, to be there for Cloud. Or perhaps it had been another part of the plan. Keep him fighting, because he did it in her memory.

The more she'd learned, the less funny it seemed, and more than once – even before Aeris had died - Yuffie had thought about bolting. Taking a few pieces of materia they would never miss anyway and getting out, going back to the simpler risks of thieving and conning and back-alley brawls. AVALANCHE was full of people who had been damaged by life, twisted until they broke and then put back together not quite right, and if she stuck around there was no saying she wouldn't be next in line.

Facing her father in Wutai had been the turning point, that she had to be strong enough and smart enough to face whatever was coming, to take it to the end, if she wanted to call herself anything other than a coward. Still, even before that moment, there had always been reasons to hold off from leaving, to wait one more minute, one more hour. It took her a long time to realize how many of them had been Cloud.

He'd smiled at her from the beginning, without reservation, _especially_ when she'd done something to piss off Cid or Barrett. They'd been able to share rather fluent conversations in Wutainese, while Tifa watched helplessly from the sidelines, and Yuffie felt more proud than she knew she ought to have.

Cloud knew her language second-hand, because of what Hojo had done to him. He'd learned her tongue and been turned into a SOLDIER at the same time – two for the price of one, he'd said softly, but there had been no laughter in it.

His personality had shattered, in those long years of imprisonment and torture, and Hojo had needed to shore him up. Pull what was left of his mind back together and anchor it – and Zack had been the answer. The SOLDIER already told him so much of his past and his life, filling the gaps in Cloud's mind with those memories had been almost natural.

The only thing Cloud had asked for, when the Meteor was gone and the world was just starting to repair, were the documents from that time. Access to the depths of ShinRa's hidden secrets, and Reeve had granted him that just before Rufus could return to lock it all away again.

The reports had been solid proof, of everything that had happened - but Cloud had already known. Had known far back, when he'd wandered back down to the basement of the Nibelheim mansion, and she'd been sent to find him, to bring him back. Somehow, along with the rest of them, pull him out of the ashes of a remembered, terrible loss, to fight a battle none of them – she thought – really believed they would win.

All the monsters had been cleaned out of the mansion, but it was still not a place Yuffie enjoyed being – and learning how long Cloud had been a prisoner here hadn't made things any better. It wasn't anywhere she could imagine spending five minutes in, and so she was quite surprised to find all the doors open, all the way down to the basement. Cloud was standing at the bottom, right next to the tubes that had been his prison for so long. Not moving, just standing there, and Yuffie opened her mouth to speak, but the silence seemed to smother her words. He heard her footsteps anyway, shifting a little where he stood.

"What does it mean to be living, if most of me belongs to a dead man? If I owe my life to someone I can never repay?" Cloud lifted a hand, hesitating for a moment, before letting his fingertips rest on the edge of the dusty cylinder. "I can still see him in here, clearer than anywhere else. Exactly where I never wanted to."

Mako blue eyes lifted to her, and Yuffie was shocked, not seeing what she had expected, not seeing the determination, the steadfastness that had made everyone else see Cloud as a hero while she saw him as a rube. His eyes were empty, an echo chamber for his own screams, still bouncing in silent agony off the stones.

"Don't ever change, Yuffie. There's no reason to be a hero. No reason to fight, when it won't make the world at all like it was."

They'd returned to the surface soon after, and Cloud had never spoken of it again – but Yuffie had seen that look again and again, had realized she had been wrong, that little glimpses of it had always been hiding in the corners of his eyes. What Vincent had seen, when he'd spoken of debts unpaid. Nothing had been Cloud's decision, he had not fought against Sephiroth and the ShinRa for any reward – if anything, Yuffie thought, he'd given up more than anyone really understood, for a cause he didn't believe in. A victory that wasn't his own – and had he known then, that his reward would only be more punishment?

Cloud gasped suddenly, the same painful, drowning gasp, and shivered, eyes bright and blind and despairing. Yuffie couldn't get any closer, couldn't – couldn't _help._

"I'm here, Cloud. I've got you." _I'm never gonna let go._

He clung to her like a child, and she could feel the waves of energy slamming through him, constricting all his muscles, cutting off any attempt to breathe more than a gasp.

"I always thought it was Jenova, but it wasn't... It's them. Maybe it was always them, maybe there was never - it's cold. It's so cold."

"It's all right. You'll be all right." Yuffie shut her eyes, speaking gentle lies with her teeth clenched, wishing she could shred the Lifestream with her bare hands.

_Leave him alone! He's done enough, leave him alone!_

"So angry, and I can't... Help me. Zack? Zack... help."

Cloud shuddered, the prelude to another full-on attack, and all Yuffie could do was hold on.

* * *

One moment there was pain, or at least the distant likeness of it, a static-filled screen bisected with burning lines. Mistaking himself for a reflection until it was far too late to do anything about it, and then there was pain and fire and the chill, burning through it all.

He had not _been_, mere moments before. Had not existed, and the wild plunge from oblivion to existence left everything in chaos, the flicker of his own identity not a certain thing by any means.

Memory. A boy. A SOLDIER, with the Mako blue eyes, and he had whispered something, thought the words were swallowed by a rushing roar that rose up to swallow everything, pulled the world apart until all that remained was the memory of the curve of those lips, telling him a secret.

_UNCLEAN._

The unholy voice split through that wisp of memory, rending it into nothing. Tumbled the whole of existence like a stone, with the heavens screaming all around him, and suddenly there were hands to clench and legs to tuck in tight, keep them from breaking. All the earliest memories had always been of pain, and even without identity there could be reaction. Reflex.

Telling him a secret – the memory returned, stronger than before - and those eyes had said even more, expressive beyond the way they flared, so bright. Regret. Yes, more familiar than anything, of course he would remember the name of that emotion first.

He. He had a name, but he had let go more than let it be taken from him, because no one had cared. He didn't belong here – he had been sent here, but he wasn't wanted.

_IMPURE._

Green and white, flaring around him, as if he was in the center of a tug-of-war between galaxies, and though he had a body now it didn't seem that he had eyes to close, the bursts of light and color violent enough to shake through each of his cells, to tumble those few scraps that were barely thoughts over and over in his mind. An apology rested in his chest, a plea to the clamor all around him, and he realized it was pride, not confusion, that kept it there.

He would have been destroyed long ago, but it had not been in their power to do it.

He was being sent back, to finish what he had started.

What had he finished? What had he started?

_JENOVA'S CHILD._

The world exploded, light and sound and pressure, and a few moments of identity seemed all he would be granted, not even enough time to know why he was being annihilated.

The beaches closest to Mideel were waking to a perfect summer morning. A quieter one than in years past, birds and beasts making themselves known but no humans walking across the sands. The Lifestream was too volatile here for any of ShinRa's current purposes, no reason for anyone to stay on the island, to try and rebuild when the entire place might very well sink into the sea. When Mako produced so many sorts of monsters, or at the very least abnormalities, and could wreak havoc in countless other ways.

No one, then, had been there to see a figure burst up out of the waves, gasping for air and clawing blindly, more drowning than swimming but somehow managing to make it to the shore. Dragging itself along slowly, long fingers finally digging into the sand, lifting it close to smell and taste. A creature unfamiliar with the concept of solidity, pulling itself out of the water, straining and crawling, to finally drop down flat on the sand.

For a very long time after, the only sound was that of the ocean sending up small waves to lap at the beach, washing over the toes and ankles and calves of the man laying face-down in the surf. Tangling strands of long, silver hair that gleamed even in the weak light of dawn.

Sephiroth turned his head to the side, feeling the itch of sand against his skin, though it was too much work even to lay where he was and remember what breathing felt like. Focus on the small, near-transparent grains in front of his nose, and then on those further out, until the world went blurry. Focusing his mind to dredge up the concepts of waves and beach and trees, and shutting his eyes again when it all was overwhelming.

_Sephiroth._

His name, and it beckoned softly to a beast lurking and prowling in the shadows of his mind. Memory - waiting to pounce, to return, and render the complexity of tree and sand and shadow utterly laughable by comparison. Sephiroth took another breath, and knew it would not wait until he was ready.

Whatever he was going to face, whatever he had faced, at least he knew where to start. Sephiroth looked into the darkness behind his closed lids, tracing the lines of a mouth as it whispered to him. Watching the subtle shifts in a pair of eyes, mako-stained and grieving, and the one thought that stood alone, before all others. The thought he had been given, by those voices who may have given him life, but were far from beneficent.

He had to kill Cloud Strife.

* * *

Author's Notes –

1. So, this is what we call 'the setup'.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hold on!"

Tifa tried to answer Cid's shout, but barely made a sound, the breath was knocked out of her as the deck of the Highwind shifted and she was thrown hard against the control panels on the port side. At least she didn't have to worry about making things worse, with the ship already crashing to earth.

_Where is Cloud? Where is he?_

Hard to look, hard to do anything but try to brace herself and keep her head from falling off her neck. It wasn't as if she could make out anything but blurs – a red blur that was either Nanaki or Vincent, a large, swearing blur that was probably Barrett, and a smaller blur that bounced off the floor, screaming insults at Cid all the way – Yuffie. The slightest flicker of pale yellow would have eased her mind, but Cloud was nowhere to be found. He hadn't gone back on the deck, had he?

_He didn't want to leave, not the Lifestream, or Aeris._

Tifa stopped thinking about him after that, had to spend the next few moments focused only on keeping her hands and feet tucked into whatever space might serve for a hold, bracing herself for the distinct possibility that they had saved the world just to end up scattered across it in tiny chunks. The ship shuddered once, twice, and just as she thought they weren't about to break apart, that perhaps Cid had managed a decent landing, the world exploded, her hands and feet wrenched away from what she thought had been a tight hold as the scream of tearing metal enveloped her. Tifa tried to curl up, to protect herself from the worst of the damage. as she was thrown violently into the opposite wall.

It sounded terrible, but she barely shifted from where she'd been flung, listening to what sounded like the whole back end of the ship ripping clean away. One of those moments that never seemed to end -she'd damn near been collecting them lately - and then with a final rumble and a snap to darkness, the world went still.

For a few seconds, Tifa wondered if she had died, but she realized she was breathing in the same moment that Barrett coughed, let out a curse, coughed and tried again, this time to much greater effect. As she sat up, a backup generator whirred into life, somewhere far in the distance, and the dim, emergency lights flickered on.

"Everyone okay?" Cid, pulling himself up from where he'd held onto the railing, and though he winced a little bit as he moved, it didn't seem terribly serious. Barrett was still digging himself out of the rubble – a few panels had come away from the wall, that must have been the terrible sound she'd heard, but he seemed to be having little problem with it. Not quite time to relax, but it seemed closer than ever. A shadow blocked the door, and Tifa looked up, squinting.

"Cloud?"

Too tall, Cloud wouldn't have blocked all the light, and Vincent looked back at her as he walked down the stairs, no emotion in those dark red eyes, even now. She would have to assume, as she usually did, that he was all right.

"Everyone is all right." He stated it as fact, which somehow made her feel better. "Perhaps some of us should attend to the rest of the crew."

Cid said something – and Tifa didn't catch it, but it was even easier than with Vincent, to assume he'd cursed. He was past the other man and out the door within moments, doing his duty as captain, ensuring the safety of his crew himself, and probably doing a lot of swearing about the state of his ship on the way. Yuffie and Nanaki were at his heels, and Tifa realized she ought to think about following them.

_Where is Cloud? Where _is_ he?_

"We need to get to Kalm. I need... Marlene, I need to find her."

Barrett was trying his damnedest not to be afraid, but rapidly running out of the resources – and Tifa schooled her face into the best mask she could manage, scrambling to her feet, putting a hand on his shoulder. All too easy to know what he was thinking of, she'd watched the Lifestream descend on Midgar, so easily reducing immutable tons of steel and concrete to twisted debris.

"It's all right, Barrett. She'll be fine, I'm sure of it. Aeris' mother was there, and Aeris would never have let anything happen to Marlene."

All she could think about were the thousands of people who had no doubt stayed in the slums, all the way until the end. Or all those people in Junon, when the weapon had come. Mideel. Nibelheim. Where had mercy been, then? In all the Crisis, the Planet seemed no more interested than ShinRa in the lives of innocents. Somehow, she managed to keep that thought off her face, and Barrett nodded.

"You're right. Of course you're right. I'll go see what Cid's doing, if he can radio in some support... got to be something on this boat that will get me into town."

_If there is a town._

Tifa had promised herself strength, promised that she would be sure and solid - _for Cloud_ - until the end of the Crisis, until they won or the Meteor fell, and it seemed her body had seen no reason to comply one second past that. Tired beyond words, body and mind and spirit, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a year.

_Trade places with Aeris, perhaps?_

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, and Tifa reached up, quickly brushing them away, remembering only as Vincent shifted slightly that she was not the only one left in the room. It was difficult to like the former Turk, no sign that he'd strayed from the cold, heartless nature that had served him so well. All the signs that his time in Hojo's 'care' had added to that, had only sharpened the edge of his inhumanity. He frightened her for many reasons she'd never wanted to pin down, and she hadn't ever wanted to be in a room alone with him, especially one where the dim light kept flickering.

"Did you see Cloud? Is he all right?"

Vincent only looked at her, crimson eyes betraying nothing, and Tifa realized the reason her heart was pounding so hard had nothing to do with him at all.

"It would be better, if you let him go."

"Like you and Lucrecia-?" Tifa stared, slapping her hands over her mouth to stop anything more, the burst of violent, dark rage only using Vincent as a convincing target. She was in no position to speak about the fragments she'd learned of his past, no more than he would have been to bring up her own unimpressive youth.

"I've never judged you, Tifa, even if you assumed it so – but you will not find what you want, not here and now. You have helped to save the world, but this wasn't a victory that could give you more than that. I think you've known that all along."

"Where did he go?"

Of course she understood him, she wasn't stupid, but there was little else she could think of to do. No, she couldn't think, couldn't do much more than fight to breathe against the harsh, pounding pulse of hurt that her heart had become, a chasm that splintered and grew until it seemed it would swallow her whole.

Tifa didn't wait for an answer, already too much of one in the somber eyes – had he pitied her, all this time, and she'd just been too foolish to see it? What did he know, what secrets did Cloud still think he had to keep from her all this time?

It took too long to reach a place on the ship where she could drop down to the ground, much of the middle of the hull crunched in right-angles to where it ought to have been, and she clambered desperately over and around the wreckage of stairs and floors. Miraculously, there were no bodies, and she could hear Barrett and Cid further ahead, wondered if perhaps all the crew had managed to make it to safety.

A glimpse of light was visible through a small port, and without a second thought Tifa punched the grating free, pulling herself out of the side of the ship, barely thinking as she measured her distance to the ground, sliding down the side of the Highwind. It had plowed into the side of a small hill, but seemed to be in at least two-thirds excellent shape, and perhaps might even see the skies as something besides spare parts.

_What happens now? What will we do?_

The crash site was pristine, really, compared to the twisted shape of Midgar, rising up out of the horizon like a thorn in the Planet's side. Amazing, really, how much of it had managed to hold together, and Tifa could only stare for a moment at the haze of smoke and dust, crackles of Lifestream energy pluming up here and there, the ground pockmarked in a wide circle for at least a mile around, where the Lifestream had smashed Meteor, and the fragments that remained had pounded into the earth.

The air was saturated with power, the materia in her gloves burning in response, hot enough to make her wince. Tifa yanked them off, threw them down, not thinking about the potential for monsters, or god knew what else, walking around these plains. Only Cloud, finding him was the last great challenge in this fight, and she couldn't fail. It would all work out right, somehow. Somehow, if she could only reach him before he disappeared forever...

In spite of that worry, it took almost no time to find Cloud. He was walking away from the Highwind, away from the city, following the sun as it started to set. It would be a hell in Midgar, this first night, and Tifa realized she hadn't even thought about Cait Sith, hadn't thought about Reeve, or asked just who would step up to take command.

"Cloud, there you are!" Still time for small lies, and she could pretend that the normal words would make it all right, a magic spell for the simple things. "We were worried about-"

He laughed, and said something very ugly under his breath, and every drop of blood in her body froze at once. She couldn't even act stunned – this was what she'd feared, what she'd known all along...

"Cloud... no. Please, don't."

It had always been her own fairy tale, that the dark flickers she'd seen in the corners of his eyes weren't real. The way he wouldn't touch her more than he had to was because he was protecting her, or because he was still shaking off Sephiroth's control. A pretty story that the boy she'd watched when they were children had ever looked at her with longing, wanting more – Cloud wasn't the only one who'd been able to lie to himself.

"Tell me, Tifa. Tell me it gets better. Maybe I'll believe you."

Cloud hated her. Hated all of this, nothing in his expression suggesting he had anything to do with saving the world, that he'd ever been there at all. Tifa took a step forward, feeling unfamiliar bones snapping deep inside her body. All this time, she'd been fearing it. Fearing this, when she hadn't had the words to know why.

"No. No, no. Cloud, it's all right now. It's over. We can go – you can go anywhere now." It was like the words never hit the air, or she was speaking a different language. She pushed anyway, because pushing always worked in the end, as long as she didn't give up hope. "Everyone will want to thank you, you're their _hero_ now, that person you always wanted to be. You're free, and... you can't be like this. You have to go on, you have to /try/."

He looked through her, something she'd never been able to imagine, even worse than the hate. All this time, when she thought he knew so much, when she _knew_ he'd been holding back, she still never realized how far his feelings were from what she'd wanted them to be.

"Go live, Tifa. Go and be happy. You deserve it."

A curse, from Cloud's lips it was the worst of fates. His eyes were more focused than she'd ever seen them, so much more than all this time he'd spent under one control or another. Looking right down to the soul of her, and he didn't care – he didn't care that he was free, he didn't care that he'd saved the world, and there was nothing she could do or give to make him understand.

_It's supposed to end this way. We all survived. Aeris gave us all her blessing. Gave him his life back, and he's supposed to _smile_, and maybe things won't be perfect but they'd be better..._

"Tifa!"

She would silently curse Barrett later, for startling her so, for making her turn back to where he was scrambling up over the rocks, because when she turned back – only a spare second later – Cloud was gone, as if he had never been at all. An empty plain, with no sign he'd ever been there. Tifa fought with the wind as it tried to tug her hair up into her face, and watched the horizon blur as her cheeks burned with the tears.

* * *

"You feeling all right, Tifa?"

One of her regulars, a construction worker she knew by sight if not by name, was looking at her in worry, and Tifa realized she'd been looking into the bottom of a glass she hadn't been cleaning for longer than she could remember.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired."

Not really a lie, she was always a little tired, it seemed. The bar was rather quiet now, usually quiet, the clientele slightly less rowdy than it had been in Midgar. Nothing was much like it had been under the plate – and yet, Tifa couldn't seem to look anywhere without reminders. Wanting to see Biggs and Wedge at a pinball machine that didn't exist, or Jessie crunching the horrible bar peanuts Tifa had to be drunk to even pretend to enjoy.

Aeris. Aeris would tell her what it was supposed to mean. How her life was supposed to go on, now that everything was over.

Not that there weren't good days, quite a few of them in the two years after the Crisis. Barrett visited often, Marlene always delighted to tell her about the latest school trip, or some new fact about materia from her science class. Cid came around from time to time with his ship – hell, slinging drinks at his wedding when the bartender hadn't shown was one of her better moments in recent history. The whole of the world full up with light and laughter and happiness – and she'd even been lucky enough to wake up in a bed that wasn't her own.

Tifa knew enough from Barrett, from how he'd handled the memories from North Corel, to know how things were supposed to go. How she'd have to work extra hours, on some days, when the memories got too thick to ignore. When being alone might mean hours of running and training and thinking only about the arc of a high kick and how to throw her entire body into a punch. She wondered how many fighters were out there, just like her, using training and study and whole schools of technique just as a way to forget about everything else.

She sighed, placing the last glass back on the rack, reaching out for the construction worker's empty as he set it down on the table with a few wadded bills, and waved her a good night. He had a family, wife and daughter with another on the way. Good work to be had in Midgar obviously, for construction, they'd nearly doubled the size of Kalm to accommodate all the workers. Her bar was dead at the start of the week, but by the end of it she'd have to bring out a cowbell to hang above the bar, ring it every time she'd finished an order, just to be heard over the throngs of people.

_... and none of them, not a single one could give a damn about you, except that they can't reach the taps themselves._

Tifa shut her eyes, wiping at her brow with a clean bar rag. She was already too tired, just did not need to meet the sun fighting. Too bad it wasn't the weekend, breaking up a brawl could usually do wonders toward wearing her out.

Glancing up, she was surprised to find it was nearly closing time, amazed she hadn't grown used to the way the minutes fell now, fast and slow at the same time. It seemed like no time had passed at all, since they'd stopped Sephiroth and the Meteor, saved the Planet. Tifa was continually amazed at how quickly Rufus had rebuilt the city – damn near rebuilt_ everything_ that had been damaged during the Crisis.

In the same breath, it seemed a thousand years had passed in the years up until then, the child she had been some other, luckier girl. Impossible, that they were anything alike, when Tifa had sprung fully formed from Nibelheim, like a phoenix.

_A phoenix. Sure._ Tifa made a face, tossing the rag against the post near the other end of the bar, just to hear the wet slap, though even that didn't give her much satisfaction.

A thousand years passing, since she'd heard that Rufus was rebuilding the Mako reactors, right along with the rest, and felt a sick, cold dread uncurl in the pit of her stomach. Cloud had been right - at first they had been seen as heroes, but that currency hadn't paid nearly as far or wide as she'd thought it would. Aeris' sacrifice had been enough to save the world, but not to change it.

Enough to settle them all, at least. Barrett as mayor of a much humbled North Corel, Cid with control of the Highwind, Nanaki as protector of his canyon, Reeve in a position of much greater power, enough that he could fight with Rufus and sometimes win.

... and Vincent, gone like a shadow, drifting on the wind, wherever such creatures wished to go. Yuffie in Wutai, and – she'd been told, a rumor Barrett had heard in passing – Cloud there as well, joined together with Lord Godo and the rest of Wutai in regaining their sovereignty. It didn't bother her much, the idea of that coming war, though whether it was fair or not, most of her hatred of the ShinRa had died with Sephiroth.

Stupid to be jealous of Yuffie, to scowl and think horrible thoughts about a silly girl – that Cloud had chosen her, somehow, instead of Tifa, and not that he'd gone there to keep fighting the ShinRa. That war was his art, and he was consumed by what they had willingly put away – as if anyone could expect him to do otherwise. He would fight and he would almost certainly win – and she would sit in a bar in Kalm and wipe countertops, and flinch at the cold, night air.

_Wasn't any of it enough? Wasn't it a victory at all?_

Two weeks of finally knowing where Cloud had gone, and every second fell like a stone, until Tifa felt so heavy, so battered it was hard to breathe. It couldn't be the end of this, to sit and wonder and not even have the words, not even know what questions she should ask or demands she should make. Desperate to see him again, when he was a thousand miles away. Tifa looked down into the glass she'd picked up, and seriously considered closing the bar a bit early, and treating herself to a few rounds.

"Excuse me, Miss Lockheart?"

A soft, young-sounding voice, and yes, she was stupid enough that it put a lump in her throat, reminding her of Cloud. So polite, even when he'd first come to Midgar. Even when he'd been trying to be rough, it had never worked well. Tifa glanced up, took the boy in with a single glance. Average height and build, with short, well-kept red hair, and when he saw her watching he smiled back, very polite.

Her stomach dropped. Given how well the night had been going, it was no mean feat – but Turks seemed to be good at intimidation through simple existence.

The cut of his suit didn't give him away, quite clean and tidy, and it wasn't really the angle in his shoulders, either – he stood like an accountant, simple and respectable. More a feeling in the air, a suspicion – instinct. It was impossible at this distance, for him not to notice how she looked him over for hidden weapons, and what kind. Her gloves were tucked under the counter, where she always kept them, and if that smile hid a personality more like Reno's than Elena's, he'd probably let her put them on before they turned her bar, and most of the block, to splinters and rubble.

"I heard the Turks shook down businesses for petty cash, when ShinRa didn't meet quota." She said coldly. "Or are you here to cop a free drink? I'll even spit in the glass, on the house."

His mild smile did not falter, his expression frighteningly mild.

"I don't believe we've ever met, Miss Lockheart. My name is Roman Gemini, and I've come here on behalf of Rufus ShinRa. If I may impose, I would like a moment of your time."

A small, hard sound and a second flash of darker red made her glance over his shoulder, and Tifa felt her stomach tighten, the feeling of dread finally tipping over into inevitability. Reno was standing on the other side of the glass, tapping the end of his nightstick gently against the pane.

When he was sure she was watching, he grinned.

* * *

Cloud hadn't been an utter failure at the physical requirements for SOLDIER, though lying about his age had given him a bit of trouble, and he'd had to work at pull-ups when he'd first joined, just to meet the minimum time requirements. Once, long after Nibelheim, after the Crisis, Cloud had started doing them, just to see how long it would take him to get tired. Putting action in place of thought, the only real respite he could ever find from himself.

He'd stopped at just over five-thousand, with barely a sweat and no aching muscles. Hojo had turned him into a perpetual motion machine, a wind-up toy, marching off to nowhere. Cloud wondered if Zack had ever felt like his body had been taken away from him, replaced with something cold and foreign, all but lifeless. Unnatural, with so many constant reminders - the cold bite of Mako in the back of his throat, the way his wounds closed before the blood dried.

The Lifestream had gone still and quiet now. Cloud knew he could usually count on a bit of time, after each of the increasingly frequent storms. Quiet enough that he could feel the edge of the world beneath his feet, and how precarious his balance was, how easy it would be to slip. Maybe it was still the stars singing, at the edge of his thoughts, but now and then even that sounded like just another empty, hollow howl.

_One more dream up against the wall._ Why did it still seem surprising?

Cloud shut his eyes, hugging his arms to himself, trying not to shudder. Always stripped a little bare after his 'attacks,' though this one must have been worse than the others. Yuffie hadn't even stirred as he slipped from her grasp, slipping on a pair of loose pants with trembling fingers, walking out into the silent dawn.

He could never tell if he remembered more or less than other people – less, he always assumed much less, with how many years were utter blanks, staggered here and there with memories so sharp and violent he had to keep himself from talking back to them, asking them what the hell he should do now. Still, even with those gaps, he didn't think it possible the world had always been so silent.

A silence filled and marked now, by the passing of minutes and hours and days. He'd noticed it before, just after the Crisis, but only now was that inaudible passage growing louder by the day, more insistent. Demanding, screaming in his ear even as he bent to oblige it.

A clock, ticking for him alone. Not Rufus' future counting down, or Wutai time, not even the Planet's time. None of that mattered, it never really did. It was a careful measurement of every minute, from the moment Zack had done something so stupid, and saved a boy who really never should have been born at all.

Zack's death should have pulled the stars from the sky.

Cloud shivered, chilled to the core, though the air was warm and humid. He'd been comfortable enough in bed, with Yuffie's arms around him. God, but she deserved so much more, didn't need to realize she'd spent all this time trying to give warmth and life to something that wasn't truly alive. He was just a crucible, with power that kept him moving and breathing and left no room for anything more.

_You could let her try._

Cloud exhaled, long and slow. God damn, but even in the middle of this, with the whole of the world in the balance and his own grip slipping – he was tired of disappointing people. What was a good person supposed to do, in his place? He knew about good people – Zack, there was no better person than Zack had been – but he had learned from enough other places too, about stealing and killing and being rude to old people, but there just wasn't a rule for this. Nothing mitigated the pain, and everything he did or did not do seemed like exactly the wrong decision.

_You could try._

Tifa's words, and the flash of hate he felt was as strong as it had ever been – she'd come to represent more than she deserved, the whole human face of the Planet that he barely recognized anymore, and certainly couldn't bring himself to care about. Greedy and selfish and _wrong,_ and he didn't need to be connected to the Planet to know it. Tifa was cruel in her optimism, eagerly using it as a way to escape reality – surely, Aeris' sacrifice still meant something, even if the world never changed, and nothing more than two years' time meant it all had been forgotten?

_Pretty little lies, aren't they now._

The whole world he'd known, and loved, and everything he'd been wanted to build a life on, just gone. Yes, a part of him wanted vengeance for that, against the entire world, and every stupid, simple, petty moron who lived in it, not even thinking to be grateful for the sacrifices made on their behalf.

Even if he didn't want to hurt Tifa, most of the people he didn't want to hurt still ended up dead, with their blood on his hands. Words like home and safe and hope fallen right out of memory, distant and blurred.

_Why didn't you just let him win?_

An effort to think about him, even when Cloud didn't call him by name. Not for the reasons any of AVALANCHE suspected, even those who knew more than they were telling. Vincent knew, Yuffie knew, and he suspected Nanaki knew and Cid was probably trying very hard not to let himself consider it. Tifa didn't know at all, she never had, and yet she'd been the one to tell him to go on.

_You should have let him have it. Let Sephiroth take the Planet. You could have... even if he didn't know, or care, you would have been with him._

Which would have been enough. It would have been everything.

It hadn't been_ him_, though – if only because Cloud had actually been able to beat him, when he never could have bested ShinRa's top SOLDIER. All that had gotten him through that final fight was that he would never, never give the world to Jenova. Fight against that bitch to his dying breath, for his mother and Nibelheim and the five years after and for Sephiroth even if he never knew or cared, and Zack even if he was dead already – and even if that victory had severed every last tie, to all hope, to anything that had ever mattered.

If Sephiroth had been the one asking, though... _really_ him. Cloud thought about it sometimes, when the memories came, and the future stretched out, blank and empty. Truly, if he'd /wanted/ the world and Cloud could have delivered-

_How could he? He never even knew you existed._

Pain. Oh yes, pain was good. It was cold and hard and real, and in that pain was strength and focus, and anger. Sephiroth, for all that he was the end of everything, was gone forever. Even if Cloud had wanted to bring him back, the Sephiroth that he wanted would have never cared. Had no interest in small, skinny stupid boys who couldn't even make SOLDIER on their own.

Only one path, the only chance he had at anything like redemption, even if that meant burning the rest of his world to a cinder. The council meeting, the attack in Junon – all of it was barely prelude, compared to what his next few steps must be. Cloud looked down, one hand clenched into a fist he'd slammed through concrete and steel without effort – he had the power now. Power he'd dreamed of at night under his old, ratty blankets in Nibelheim, or the paper-thin covers of his bunk in Midgar. The power he would have done anything for, in the rain and the cold, watching Zack's blood fade into the water and feeling the entire universe shatter around him.

To make that truth a lie would render all his power meaningless, even if using it, staying true to the path meant losing the world.

If he could even remember why he bothered, in the first place.

Cloud couldn't even close his eyes, and pretend to remember the good days, or the promise of better days, and he'd at least been able to hold on to the last of that, during the Crisis. Impossible now, to imagine a world that wasn't this one, bleak and endless and so empty. The past was dried and cracked - old paper, torn away on the wind, and the future was nothing but a hole.

_Only a temporary world. Nothing more._

"What do you think you're doing, Spike?"

He'd felt the chill sharpen, the slight scent of Mako in the air just before they'd spoken. The Cetra could mimic the rough burr perfectly, just the hint of backwoods accent, but none of the warmth. Cloud didn't look back, he didn't feel any fear, hadn't felt anything but the slightest pinch of just how much hell he'd gotten used to accepting, since the first time Zack had appeared, with the Cetra wearing his face.

The Planet hated him as much as it needed him, and he felt much the same, most of the time.

"Do you have any idea how little I care what you look like?"

Cloud sighed, vaguely wishing for a beer to hold, if only for the coldness of the bottle. Zack acted like he was drunk a lot more than he'd actually gotten drunk – SOLDIERS could hold enough liquor to qualify as a still. He'd always tried to get Cloud to drink, to lighten him up, but drinking had only made him sleepy, and Cloud actually felt calmer surrounded by heavy drinkers. An absolution in his conversation, he didn't have to worry about saying or doing anything wrong, when no one would remember it later.

He didn't think Zack had understood, when he'd tried to explain, but Zack was the sort of person who hadn't ever worried, even when he probably should have. If anything, he let loose more when it could get him into trouble, and laughed the loudest when he had to hide it in silence, eyes sparkling in a way that even made Mako seem dull.

The Cetra couldn't replicate that, even though Cloud supposed Zack had to be among the Lifestream, somewhere. The thought of his friend as any ordinary rock or a tree was just as sickening as the thought that all that remained was gone, wiped clean by the demand of that greater power. _Returning him to the Planet_. As if that held any fucking comfort.

Nothing in this world would ever come close to what Zack had been, and so they stood before him only as a shell, a thing that could talk like him and look like him – but wore him shabbily, an actor with no grasp of the role.

The Cetra had managed his mother well enough, she'd had so few emotions he could remember to measure against anyway. Their attempt at Sephiroth had been nothing less than embarrassing, and as if they'd realized the same, Cloud had never seen him after that first try.

"You've stopped trusting me, I suppose. I told you, what would happen and how. The details are my concern – you'll get what you want."

Of course he was curious, why they'd been so angry, but Cloud had learned long ago that the Cetra never gave answers. He wasn't even sure anyone else could see them, the guises they wore, since they had never appeared when he wasn't alone.

"You lied to us, kid. We're suffering now, because of you."

_liarliarliarLIAR!_

Cloud winced against the fierce chill, the silent chorus behind those words, beating against him hard, whether he could hear them or not. He gritted his teeth, having to fight to make any words come out.

"It wasn't the deal. You all know that."

They were trying to make Zack smile, his patient, gentle smile, but it kept slipping, revealing the faceless, remorseless creatures beneath, and he hated himself for how much it didn't even hurt anymore. "You don't think–"

"I don't fucking _care_!"

Cloud snarled, because really, when was the last time he'd been sane enough to actually _think_, and he stopped, shutting his eyes against the stab of violent cold that seemed to shoot through him like a second spine, the voice of the Planet shrieking with confusion and agony and betrayal. It was easier to bear the pain doubled over, to hell with the Cetra and what they might think – and Cloud took deep, open mouthed breaths, only the virtue of Mako that he hadn't been permanently folded into the position.

Chronic was a good word for it, with insufferable bullshit not so far behind.

Aeris was the cause of all of it, the double-edged sword of her salvation – Holy had brought the Planet into a stage of wakefulness it had not been in since the Cetra thrived. Now there was no escaping its cries, each time it was violently subverted, each time Rufus flipped the switch on another of his rebuilt reactors.

"... and you're caught in the middle, just like we are." Cloud blinked, and realized he'd crumpled, laying flat on the ground, each panting breath making little puffs of dust rise up before his eyes. Warm fingers touched his cheek – they'd never dared to touch him before. "All you have to do, to end all our suffering..."

Cloud smiled, the sort of smile he used to practice as a cadet, all teeth. "I_ like_ watching you suffer."

He could feel them startle, and rankle, and hate him – and Zack was right, though Cloud had known that even before he'd had the chance to prove it – giving the finger to authority was always the right thing to do.

"You will regret this, Strife." No longer Zack's voice, but a furious hiss, the sound of a thousand voices all gathered against him. Once upon a time, Cloud would have been proud of himself, for how little it made him feel, afraid or otherwise – but now, even pride seemed useless, burnt to ashes with the rest. "You think that you are above rebuke, beyond all possible-"

"Kill me, then." Cloud said simply, spreading his arms, hands open palmed. "Please."

A second shock of surprise – how could they not know? How could ten-thousand-however-many-thousand-year vengeful spirits not understand what it meant to fight with nothing left inside? Somehow, he chuckled, though the sound was rusted and leaking, dead before it hit the air.

"But you can't, can you? When it comes to anything that matters, you're just as powerless as everything else in this world." Cloud slowly got to his feet, dusting off the knees on his pants. "So we'll do what we were always meant to do, and you'll keep coming back here, and threatening me with inconsequentials."

So much that no one else knew about the Lifestream, that Cloud wouldn't betray, not wanting to break any of those beautiful illusions, even if watching the faithful at Cosmo Canyon had made him want to laugh. No one who hadn't lived through it, who hadn't taken that plunge would understand how it burned just like Jenova, how so many of the things he'd feared didn't belong to her at all. The pure force of life, the force of a billion distilled souls hurt and tore and destroyed as much as anything ever could.

What had he wanted, before he'd wanted to be a SOLDIER?

The Planet screamed again – it would come and go, now that the Mako reactor was online, and Cloud swayed this time but did not fall, closing his eyes – if only he'd known. If only he'd known what it meant to win. He wasn't able to mark his own temperature, hadn't realized he was burning again until a cool hand touched his cheek, small and soft and he opened his eyes, expecting Yuffie, already trying to think of some story he knew she wouldn't believe.

Deep green eyes and a soft smile, no less gentle for what it knew about the world. Aeris was worse, so much worse, because the Cetra were so much better at wearing her, and always there was nothing but compassion in her eyes, flickers in and out of what he thought very well might be... that they used her voice but allowed her to stay, to watch him with those eyes that reminded him so much of other, colder eyes...

He'd never wanted her to know that, and her acceptance had come, at first, like a blow. She'd already known, she'd always known.

"You're hurting, Cloud." He leaned into the coolness of her touch, at once just the same and yet entirely different from the burn of the Lifestream, and the Planet's pain. "Let me take it away."

"Let her talk with her own voice, then." He snarled, realizing as soon as he did that there were smarter things he could have said.

"It's going to kill you, to do this. It will rip you apart." It was her voice now, it was _her_, completely. Aeris, and she hurt for him. Was afraid for him, didn't want to see him suffer though they both knew it would cost the world.

"I can do it." Yes, even when he couldn't remember why it mattered. "We stick to the deal, and everyone wins."

Aeris shook her head, and there were tears in her eyes, and even as he lifted a hand to wipe them away, she blurred, and faded, a green mist that dissolved around his fingertips like heavy fog.

"You bastards."

It was a waste for the Cetra to keep making threats. A waste for Rufus to keep fighting. The fight was already over, there was no use for any of this, and even Yuffie would know it, soon enough.

* * *

Author's notes –

1. Yes, that's Roman from ALHR. Shameless, I know. At least his name fits the alliteration.


	6. Chapter 6

The crunch of tires slowing on gravel snapped Zack awake; but even in the instant it took him, the sound ceased, and he was left blinking at an empty room. So much adrenaline in his system that he could barely breathe. One hand reached for Cloud, an instinctive gesture; clutching at the slack wrist, the arm and the body that hadn't moved since he'd placed it on the bed. Cloud's pulse beat steadily enough beneath his fingertips, the thin chest rising and falling with each breath, still asleep.

Zack blinked, utterly confused – he'd expected threadbare sheets, hard mattresses and thin blankets, and waited for the blank spaces in his mind to fill themselves in. Staring carefully, at the bales of straw, the gaps between boards, where the thin light of dawn was filtering through.

An abandoned barn, because there hadn't been a motel and he'd run out of cash – no, he'd stolen some more, with a thousand silent apologies to the clerk who'd had his back turned from the register – no, he'd _meant_ to steal the money, but his hands had been shaking too badly, and he'd been worried...

Gongaga. He was going there – or coming back? No, halfway there before he'd realized how risky, too dangerous. The first place anyone would look, the first safe place he had thought of. He didn't dare, not and get caught, or bring that hell down on his hometown, like it had in Nibelheim. If the ShinRa hadn't already...

_Focus, soldier. Focus._

The sound of tires, that was what had woken him, the soft hiss of an engine idling down. Vital to figure that out first, whether it had been real or a dream and if it was real – how to get out, get safe.

The thought that it might not be a threat never crossed his mind.

How many dreams? How many nightmares, and long hours well past midnight, waking up to nightmares, not knowing what might be real. Crouching with every muscle from his neck and shoulders to the backs of his thighs, even his toes strained and aching as he crept around corners or stood frozen, bracing himself, waiting for phantom foes to strike. One night, he'd very nearly taken down an entire wall, mistaking a large mirror – his own reflection – for the enemy.

_What if there is no enemy? What if they know you'll just go crazy, kill yourself through sheer stupidity?_

It was an exhausting practice, the constant alertness, but Zack knew he didn't dare relent. Maybe someday, they'd give up the search, give them both up for gone and dead, but now, every day was still a liability. Even now, even with the morning silent around him Zack moved with every bit of slow, exacting grace he could dredge from the reserves of reserves, gently shifting Cloud's body to the side, hoping as he rose that the boy would stay silent.

Zack knew his nightmares were nothing, when it seemed Cloud couldn't even wake up from the horrors that plagued him. It was possible, with enough coaxing, to get food and water into him. Cloud still wasn't conscious, not seeing anything even when his eyes were open, and Zack couldn't even trick himself into believing otherwise. The boy was lost to himself as much as to the world around him.

Zack was angry, furious, and yet none of that had transferred to Cloud, the real source of so much of his struggling. It would have been easier to leave the boy behind, or simply kill him – that thought came again and again, no matter how he tried to stop it. Perhaps it would have been more humane than letting him suffer, living the rest of his life as a shell - just a shell, with only Zack to remember what had been there before.

He couldn't do it, though, no way, reaching down even now to draw his fingertips along the curve of Cloud's cheek, holding on to what was left of his own sanity, through this act of desperate, constant triage. ShinRa had taken everything – if he let himself hate Cloud even for a moment, if he started down that path, he would give them the rest of his soul, and even his survival would be meaningless.

_Just like Sephiroth. _The memory came, unbidden, one of the commander's rare smiles. Teasing him, quiet but certain, when he'd failed at some task, usually one sodden with bureaucracy –

_Always in my shadow, aren't you. Walking in my footsteps._

_Not this time, you son of a bitch. Never again._

Zack rubbed furiously at the wetness in his eyes. He really had one foot securely planted in barking mad, and it took everything he had to rein in the fury and the fear and the despair, bare slivers of his former strength wrapped around the pieces, like duct tape and broken glass.

_... and Cloud. You do this for him, or he'll never have a chance to make it out. You'll take away his only hope._

"I'll be right back, kid."

Cloud didn't answer, didn't move, and Zack dropped down off the bales he'd stacked together for their makeshift bed, wincing a little at the chill of the packed-dirt floor against his bare feet. Abandoned, the whole place seemed long abandoned, and he remembered the moment he'd decided it would work for the night – though the exact location still continued to elude him.

_You've done this before._

A moment of deja-vu stopped him dead, that he would peer in between the cracks in one of the walls, and see Hojo and the President and a full set of SOLDIERS ready and waiting, opening fire, reducing him to a bleeding heap, just alive enough that he could watch them take Cloud away.

_Just a dream. Just your worst fear, because you've got enough of them to be leaking out all over the damn place._

Regardless of what they'd done to him , ShinRa certainly hadn't given him the ability to see the future – and yet Zack still hesitated, wasting precious seconds before he pressed his face to the crack – revealing an empty meadow, just as it had been when they'd arrived. No sign of any car, or that one had ever been there.

Go, or stay? He bitterly remembered when his instincts had been keen and reliable, wondered now if it had all been just his own ego, assuring him he could hear danger at fifty paces. Brash bravado backed up by Mako, and the luck of surviving the war. Zack glanced back, though there was no sign Cloud had stirred, or was about to.

_You fail him, you know what sort of a man it makes you. As bad as any of them._

It wasn't any less crazy than any of his other thoughts, fierce and clinging simply for the sake of hanging on to something, anything – but he held onto it anyway. To be strong for the sake of someone who'd never been so lucky, at least he had a decent chance of remembering that.

It was hard, to look back on how it had been, to see just how much he'd failed Cloud, even from the start. He'd decided to befriend the boy, a self-righteous act, proving – what, exactly? That he was humble enough to _talk_ to a common recruit, wave at him in the hall, offer trips to the bar that he knew Cloud would never be brave enough to accept?

Half-assed, careless motions – playing pretend, while a part of him had known that Cloud needed more. Recognized the constant 'hazing' for what it was – torture, god only knew how many months the kid had endured with a smile and a flinch. Cloud had known Zack's interest for what it was – nothing but the SOLDIER's surface-level ego-stroking, allowing him to feel charitable. The kid had known to be overly grateful for every moment, honestly surprised each time Zack even remembered his damn name. Happy just to be noticed, probably hoping it could lead to more. A chance at SOLDIER even, but even with that dream dead Cloud had always smiled to see him, truly happy, when Zack knew he'd never really expected to know him as long as he had.

_So then you went and did something for him, something _special_. Let him finally meet his hero – let him get it out of his system._

God, and he thought it had all been just infatuation, starry-eyed hero worship. He thought he'd been so goddamn_ wise_.

_In your infinite fucking wisdom, you bring him back to the one place he tried to escape from. You bring him home to Nibelheim, and then..._

He was shaking, once again locked in place, in a body that didn't feel like his, with a thousand thoughts – not even Wutai, not even Wutai was like this – and this new Zack was someone he would have crossed the street to avoid, once upon a time. The only routines his mind wanted to fall into were things that were all gone, all five years dead – videos on the couch after a day of crap paperwork; long, smelly trips into the seediest bars in Sector Three; or every Friday's mandatory Sephiroth Annoyance Detail.

When it hit him this time, the overwhelming rush of emotion, it was despair, not anger. Loss, and grief, finally allowing him to feel it, knowing his friend had finally fallen to all those forces he'd fought so hard to ignore, to rise above. Things Zack had sworn to himself, to protect Sephiroth from, and in the end all that struggle and hope had made no difference.

_I hate you. You bastard._ It had seemed such a bother, a waste of energy – Hojo, of course he'd hated the man, but that had been as easy as breathing._ How could you, Seph? How?_

He was panting, hard, and sometimes it seemed his muscles never stopped trembling. Zack carefully flipped open the latch – the walls were falling down in around him, he'd never been claustrophobic before all that time spent down deep, buried alive in that damn lab. Even this barn had been nearly too much, except that it had been raining a little – yes, that was why he had chosen the barn; even if it was still more a structure of gaps, with a few boards between them.

All that empty space, all the silence, all the time he had to wait and watch with senses he thought were keyed up and Zack still never saw the soldiers. Not even shadows on the ground, just the sting of something in his upper arm – heart seizing with a rush of panic, _tranquilizer dart Zack you _stupid _fuck_! - and a crack against the back of his head, enough that when he hit the ground he couldn't taste the dirt in his mouth. Just the grit and the flash of white and the pain. Bullshit, he'd come out of attempted _decapitations_ with worse headaches than this. Get up, get up...

"Well shit, and I thought you SOLDIERS were gonna impress me."

Zack caught the kick aimed at his head, bringing his hand around to snap the soldier's leg firmly at the knee, fighting to get to his feet as the man screamed bloody agony; too loudly to hear where the other soldiers were standing, or how many were still left.

He tried to open his eyes, growling in frustration as the world moved in a smeared blur of light and shadow – goddamn tranquilizer, slowing him down – and a second crack across his cheek sent him down again, elbows slamming hard into the dirt. Zack could not stop the kick that slammed into his chest this time, spinning him all the way onto his back before he hit the ground. A SOLDIER then, one traveling with the regular troops just in case. Zack wondered if it was anyone he knew. Unlikely, with so few of them to begin with, and a whole five years for new recruits between then and now.

No time to consider it, blows raining down on him from all directions, and it was all Zack could do to try and curl up, avoid the worst of it. He could feel the drugs in his system, warm and sticky like syrup, his muscles slack and useless. The pain wasn't so bad, unnoticeable compared to the weakness and the helpless fury and the panic, panic like a wall in his mind, clawing for release. Caught. Caught so soon, and he'd barely escaped, barely had a chance to remember the sun, feel the wind or the grass or –

"The other one must still be inside. Go get him."

The sound of a round being chambered, likely a tranquilizer, but it didn't matter, not when they were going for Cloud and the kid wouldn't be able to fight back, wouldn't even know what had changed.

"Nnn... gah... Cloud!" The words were mangled past any comprehension, and Zack knew he was spitting blood, using every ounce of energy to drag himself forward by desperate inches. The barn seemed to be retreating with every breath he took, drifting off like an unanchored ship. Zack couldn't imagine how he'd gotten so far away in the first place. He growled, not even bothering for the words this time, desperation and fury and no way to use it. No different than Hojo's lab, with nothing to do but scream inside his own mind.

_No! Don't touch him! DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!_

A laugh, and another blow, and another, and Zack saw or thought he saw the soldier enter the barn, gun in hand – no no NO – and Zack desperately tried to think of a way to force their hand, to force them to kill the both of them, because they hadn't yet, and that was a horror beyond reasoning. They'd tranked him, not killed him, and were about to do the same to Cloud and that meant –

A moment of still silence, and the barn exploded. Zack lay in the dirt, watching in dumb, drugged disbelief as the flames rose. The timbers not initially taken in the initial blast were creaking ominously, falling here and there, though surprisingly much of the structure was still intact, if not for very long. He would have thought it was a hallucination, save that no one was striking him now, all the other soldiers sharing in his silent, blank confusion.

A dark shape flew through the air, too fast for his hazy vision to track until it hit the ground and rolled. Zack could hear muffled swearing, shouting – the tranquilizer was finally settling in, digging deep into his bones – and he blinked, watching it, finally realizing it was a head. A soldier's head. He would have known sooner, but usually those sorts of things were attached to bodies.

_Who...?_

Zack knew he was moving in slow motion, hardly good, as the rest of the world had suddenly sped up. Shouting and screaming and gunfire, and a figure slowly stepping from the flames –

Zack had never thought it was possible to actually hate fire, but he'd learned.

_Why did you do it, Seph?_

Of course, the man had told him, those insane, incoherent rants in the basement of the ShinRa mansion, but it had only been different facets of what they'd both already known. So much like him, really, Sephiroth always convinced any new detail would somehow make the difference, could sway Zack's opinion after all they'd seen and done and been for each other.

_What did you think I didn't know, that I wouldn't forgive you for?_ It was the drugs, he didn't mean it, didn't mean any of what swirled through his mind._ Even this. Even this, you silly, stupid fuck, if you were only around to forgive._

It wasn't Sephiroth, of course. The figure didn't even need to clear the flames, for Zack to see it, although he still stared, certain he wasn't seeing reality. It couldn't be Cloud, one arm bloody to his elbow, stalking out of the burning building with the flickering flames of a Fire Materia licking up his other arm, and the most terrible, small smile on his face.

Sharing an inside joke with madness, with the very nature of evil – god, he'd seen that smile before. He'd seen it before.

Zack shivered, and felt the hair on his arms rise, the familiar, cool swell of power – had Cloud even gone so far in his training, to use Materia without specific orders?

Even if he had, he certainly hadn't learned to use it raw, not junctioned to a weapon or arm guard – and it never should have been enough to_ lift_ the body of the soldier he'd sent down, still whimpering, clutching his broken leg. Cloud twisted his hand sharply, and the man burst into flames, erupting into a fireball so intense Zack couldn't tell if he even had time to scream.

The soldiers were shooting – live ammo now, not tranks – and the SOLDIER with them was running forward, long sword drawn. Cloud was moving too, just as fast, materia dropping from his hand, forgotten and perhaps never really necessary in the first place. He was dodging the bullets, too fast for simple troops to hit, and Zack struggled to keep his head up, to watch, but the kid moved so fast he could see little but fragments, nonsensical images all framed with splashes of blood. One soldier down, impaled on his own rifle, the SOLDIER's eyes going wide in shock as his sword slashed and failed to hit anything but air. He staggered back, as the last blow fell abruptly short, trapped motionless in Cloud's fist – caught it, he'd _caught_ the fucking blade – and they moved out of the range of Zack's vision, just as Cloud smiled again, and drew his own arm back to strike.

The screaming started, moments later, fading away to a slow rhythm of terrible, wet sounds. Zack realized he must have been coming up the other side of the drugs in his system, that he could hear it more clearly with each moment that passed. Whatever they'd given him intended to subdue him only for a short time. Long enough to contain him, to contain Cloud, and he wondered then, if Hojo had any idea what he'd done. Was this at all even serious, this attack, or was it merely a test? Was someone watching even now, to see what sort of hell they had wrought?

_The unstoppable kind. Cloud stopped Sephiroth, so it was obvious, wasn't it? If they wanted their killing machine, they needed to go deeper._

Silence, only the sound of his breathing. He'd missed the end of the screaming, lost in the revelation of what all Hojo's work had been in the pursuit of, that there had been a tangible goal and he had apparently succeeded. Zack hoisted himself up onto his knees just in time to realize it was the wrong decision. He had only a second's glimpse of what he already knew he'd see, the slumped bodies of what had once been the soldiers. It was still a shock, far more in pieces than anything like a whole, and he could hear breathing, too close behind him, and what sounded like low laughter, or something else, something worse, slowly being strangled.

_Oh kid. Oh kid, I'm sorry._

Hands around his throat even as he turned, so strong they felt like metal, not flesh, and even as Zack struggled, legs kicking out at nothing, he knew there was no way to break Cloud's hold. Not even if he'd been at full strength, not against this. God, Cloud was so strong, they'd made him this strong and this crazy, that he could so happily kill, happily watch Zack die with the same wicked grin, eyes that burned hollow with an inhuman will. He didn't want to look at that, not at the end, but Cloud's hands were too strong, nothing to do but watch those empty, mad eyes even as his own vision blurred, and his lungs screamed for air.

_Don't let him remember this. Please, don't let him remember._

Terrible pain, and the world went dark.

* * *

Zack knew he couldn't have been out long; only minutes, at the most. His body still ached in every place he'd been hit, throat raw, feeling as if half a broken bottle was still stuck there. He took a breath, which made him cough, which made everything worse. It seemed he hadn't been out long enough for even his accelerated healing to kick in, a damn shame –

_...still alive?_

A soft, sniffling sound, very close by, and Zack blinked, staring at the seam running along the thigh of Cloud's pants, the last pair he'd been able to steal for the kid. Cloud was rocking slightly, curled up with his head hidden in his arms. Only a few blonde spikes were visible, sticking straight up, like some wild animal employing its best defenses. Zack had teased the kid about it, but now it seemed anything but funny. Cloud was weeping uncontrollably, body shaking with sobs, trembling so hard he almost looked the way Zack remembered, when he'd first dragged the kid out of his cell.

Zack tried to speak, managing nothing but a croaking whisper, and Cloud didn't react, except perhaps to bury himself a bit deeper in his arms. He let his head fall in the other direction, more due to gravity than his will, and Zack stopped trying to focus when he realized he was looking at a curled hand laying a few paces away, an arm attached to nothing.

_Does he know? Does he realize what he's done?_

Likely enough, or the fact that he'd woken up surrounded by dead bodies, with Zack at his feet, had been more than enough to leave him like this. It also meant that meant he knew enough to realize where he was, and what was going on...

_Of course, of course he has to wake up to _this_._

"Cloud." Bracing himself for – hell, he wasn't even sure anymore – Zack slowly sat up, and just as slowly placed a hand gently on Cloud's back. Just his fingertips at first, then his palm, counting five between the movements, until he was slowly, gently rubbing the boy's back. He seemed so small now, so fragile, too frail to hold the brutal power Zack had seen in him, mere moments before.

_What if it gets worse? What if this is just the beginning?_

Zack couldn't think about it, couldn't think about anything but the fact that Cloud seemed to be responding to his voice, even if it was only to burrow deeper into the shelter of his own arms. His hands were white-knuckled against his temples, fisted in his hair. As gently as he could, he reached out, covering Cloud's smaller hands with his own, keeping his voice soft and steady.

"Cloud, can you look at me?

The boy shook his head so violently, Zack nearly lost his hold, and his trembling increased, jaw clenched against the tears that still spilled out over his cheeks.

"Come on, now." His own voice held such unexpected confidence that even Zack felt a little annoyed, wondering what it thought had just happened here. "Just for a moment, just look. and then you can do whatever you want, I promise."

He wondered what the hell the kid thought he would see, as Cloud's breath hitched sharply, painfully, and he slowly lifted his head, blinking blearily. His eyes were still burning, too bright, but nothing like how it had been – and Zack watched with the first flickers of a dawning hope, as they slowly focused on him. Saw him, and Cloud seemed just as amazed as he was, that he'd managed to do it.

"... Zack? Is that..." His face crumpled again, and Zack couldn't imagine the strength it took for him to push it back, to force himself back from that edge. "I thought - I thought that I... everyone..."

"No, Cloud–"

He looked, even as Zack lifted a hand to his cheek, trying to keep him still. Cloud looked, and he saw, and Zack could feel the already rigid body jerk beneath his touch, the boy forgetting for a moment how to breathe. His voice was so soft, Zack could barely make out the words.

"I... did this? I..."

"Yeah. Yeah, you did." Zack wanted to say it wasn't him, that it so very fucking obviously wasn't his fault, but the words couldn't get past the lump in his throat. The tranquilizer was still wearing off and god, god he was as tired as he'd ever been. Still no reserves, nothing to fall back on to try and take this all in.

Cloud's head snapped up suddenly, and once again there was a hand at Zack's throat, but this time the touch was only slightly cool. He saw the dawning horror, as Cloud measured the span of the still-healing bruises against his own hands.

"Oh no. No no no, oh..."

The boy tried to scramble backwards, probably wanted a great deal more than that, but he was still weak and Zack had enough in him to close the distance, to throw his arms around Cloud and ignore his babbled pleas: desperate and wild, telling Zack to run, to go, to leave him, whatever it took, as fast as he could.

Zack held on, and felt them falter, felt the tears come again. The moment where Cloud was clinging onto him – and then, then the most terrible moment of all. The first moment Cloud remembered, truly remembered what had happened at Nibelheim, and everything after.

Of course he screamed, wild and panicked and raw, and Zack looked up, certain that someone had to hear, that someone would notice now. His earlier fears seemed unfounded – no one had been watching this, no one stepped in to save the men Cloud had so brutally killed, and no one was coming now, to clean up the aftermath. Letting Cloud scream himself hoarse seemed as merciful an idea as any – Zack would find comforting words later, when Cloud might be better persuaded to believe the lie.

_It's not a lie, that I'm here. I'm here, and it's my arms around you, and we're in this together, kid. Whatever the road and wherever it goes._

It didn't take long to find the shape of the truck he'd heard, what seemed like a lifetime ago, parked beneath the trees at the southern edge of the field. It almost made him laugh, it hadn't even been hidden all that well, and Zack blinked away the tears that seemed his constant companion now. Cloud had stopped screaming, and even his sobs were faint, little more than a shiver now and then, a trembling breath as Zack shifted him, lifting the small body up into his arms once more.

He didn't – couldn't – look back. It seemed almost wrong, somehow, to take the truck, but almost couldn't put the distance between them and this place as a full tank of gas and four tires would. Zack opened up the cab door already prepared to fight his instincts, to keep from pushing the pedal to the floor and keeping it there until there was nothing left in the tank.


	7. Chapter 7

Tifa pulled three chairs down from the nearest table, not caring about how hard they hit the floor, reaching back behind the bar for three shot glasses and what was definitely the worst whiskey she kept in the bar – a gift from Cid, bless his heart, and also his taste buds, annihilated by years of chain smoking. Still, if Reno was drinking – and he would be - she knew better than to think he'd actually pay, and at the moment she could have happily been drinking drain cleaner without tasting it.

"No, thanks." The new Turk – she'd already forgotten his name - murmured, putting his hand across the top as she went to fill his glass. "I don't drink."

Tifa stared at him for a long moment, waiting for the punch line, canting her eyes to Reno when it didn't come. The other Turk shrugged back at her, that effortless, bored gesture that meant maybe – just maybe – he couldn't quite recall why they were here.

"The recruits aren't what they used to be, I know. It reflects badly on all of us, but what can you do? He's a damn good sharpshooter - and doesn't tend to get all spiky and wingy when he gets pissed off."

Tifa kept her hands steady, enough practice between bartending and fighting that she could pour smooth shots in an earthquake if it seemed like the only thing left to do.

"So, Vincent is working for you, then?"

Reno snorted, and she knew he was laughing, because he knew the thought was painful for her – after all that had happened, for Vincent to end up right back where he'd been. "What the hell else was he going to do?"

_What are any of us going to do?_

He barely waited for her to finish pouring before tossing back the double shot, wincing sharply as he slammed the glass down against the bar, nearly hard enough to shatter it.

"Fuckballs, woman – you can't possibly hate me this much." He started shoveling pretzels into his mouth, from a bowl Tifa hadn't noticed to collect. She could only imagine how long they'd been sitting there, and suppressed a pleased smirk.

"The rat poison costs more." It took a great force of will to sit down, and Tifa rolled her own glass in her hand, her stomach a little too tight for drinking. "Not that I don't love talking to unrepentant murderers, but what the hell are you doing here?"

"When's the last time you've spoken with Cloud?"

She wanted to lie, but knew he'd catch it, and then she wondered why she cared what he thought, and drank the shot, filling her own glass again and reaching out for his.

"It's been a while."

Reno grinned, very nearly laughed, taking no little pleasure in how badly she lied, and pressed his fingers down on the end of the bottle, sloshing another shot after the one already in the glass.

"I'm sure it has. So, was this your idea of paradise, Lockheart? Save the world, retire to the sticks and spend the rest of your life refilling bowls of cocktail peanuts?"

"At least I'm not making the world a worse place by living in it."

It was tempting to pour herself another shot on top of the last, but Tifa held back, fairly certain Reno could fight just fine right up until he was under the table – and even then, he could still aim from the floor. The other Turk was sitting silently, completely sober, trying not to be noticed while taking in every word. Tifa wished she knew what their game was, knew what she should be trying so hard not to give them.

"He hasn't called then? Hasn't tried to contact any of you?"

There had been a time, once, when her life had not revolved around Cloud, but Tifa could only remember it dimly, warm bright days when she hadn't had to grow up and pain was something that happened to other people, at a distance she didn't even realize she had ignored.

"I heard... rumors, that Cloud is with Yuffie, in Wutai." Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what this is all about? Wutai is taking their chance to throw off ShinRa's yoke, and you want the rest of us to stop it? Stop him?"

"Miss Lockheart," Roman broke in, obviously the one playing 'good cop' in this scenario. Rude leaned back in his chair, head slightly tipped, as if he were watching something vaguely boring on television. "We aren't here to make demands, or start trouble." The other Turk snorted, but Roman ignored him. "We're here for your protection, to warn you. You, and the rest of AVALANCHE. Cloud Strife is dangerous."

It was hard, not to reach out and just slap him. Stupid little child, playing dress up, thinking a gun and a politely homicidal attitude would somehow impress her. Tifa didn't move more than it took to glance in Reno's direction. "He's really the best you can find?"

Reno shrugged. "His name matches the pattern. We're trying to get Elena to change hers, but last time I brought it up she shot at me."

Tifa glared at Roman, smirking somewhere in the back of her thoughts, when she saw what was a little bit of worry in his eyes.

"Cloud Strife is a hero. He saved the planet from the ShinRa, from what they created, when all their science and weaponry either turned on them or detonated on its own. The whole Planet owes him their lives, including you useless ShinRa bastards."

Roman tipped his head slightly. "Technically, Miss Lockheart, we created that hero."

One heartbeat later he was leaning back, two legs of his chair off the ground, Tifa's fist half an inch from his nose and Reno's nightstick responsible for that gap, slammed down against the crook of her elbow, what would probably be quite a welt by the morning. Reno was still grinning lazily, though there was a hardness in his eyes – a shock, to realize he wasn't looking forward to this fight.

"You want me to light it up?" She could hear it hum softly, electricity purring, ready to flare against her skin. "Really, I could care either way – but Cloud Strife has killed a lot of people, and is looking to kill a hell of a lot more, and we're not leaving until we're sure we know everything that you do."

Tifa didn't flinch at his gaze, though the words shook her, and she relaxed her fist, dropping back into her chair, not wanting to look at either Turk but not wanting to close her eyes - to see the silhouette of Cloud's back as he walked away from her, left them all with no explanation, no reason.

"Cloud doesn't kill people for no reason. If he's involved with your war with Wutai, then he has every right–"

Amazing, how the sound of plastic on the table could be soft and yet so startling, pattering like rain as Reno let a few more of the pictures fall. Some were blurry, their contents unrecognizable, landscape shots of some kind. Others were in much sharper focus, better lighting – autopsy photos. Or at least, she thought they were, but before she could recoil Tifa couldn't help but notice that the bodies seemed to be cut into many more pieces, mutilated in ways no doctor would have reason to do.

"Four reactors, in the past six months, destroyed either just as they came online, or before they could go active. One near North Corel." More pictures fell, more bodies, more destruction. "A test-drilling site in the south. One on the western coast. Most recently, Cloud struck in Junon. Murdered all the personnel, even the ones who tried to run, and had some special fun with the guards before letting them die." Reno pulled one last photo out of the pocket of his coat, snapping it down with an extra flourish. "Before you go telling me it couldn't possibly be him..."

Two years made no difference – Cloud was still wearing the uniform, the SOLDIER he'd never been, but the floor beneath him, what she could see of the tabletops and the walls were sticky dark, blotchy - the same as his sword. Looking up at them, it must have been a still from a security video, and Tifa tried to tell herself it was the shadows that weren't there, the poor quality of a tape that was actually quite detailed – god, where was Cloud behind those eyes? Where was the man who'd saved the world?

"Have you seen him at all, Miss Lockheart?" Roman again, as polite as ever. "Has he tried to contact you?"

"Do you have any more pretzels?" Reno shook the empty bowl in front of him, licking his fingertips before picking out every last crumb of pretzel salt from the corners.

She wasn't going to cry, couldn't even feel her eyes going wet, though it felt like her face was flushed, and she felt clumsy, weak, just trying to take a breath. Absolutely the last thing she wanted, to feel this way in front of the Turks – giving Reno a free show.

"He has the right to do this. After everything you did to him, he has the right to kill you all. He has the right, to tear ShinRa to the ground."

"So did Sephiroth, if you want to take it to that far." Reno's voice was cool and smooth – she never would have imagined it, that he could sound so serious. "In a way, he had every right to strike back against the ones who created him, who used him as a weapon and nothing more - 'tear ShinRa to the ground,' as you put it. How many people died for that, Lockheart? Do you know how long it took, to dig up the bodies? Do you know how many they just left where they were - bulldozed it all flat, poured concrete on top, just because there was nothing else to do?"

"I remember what it looked like when you dropped the plate on us." Thank the Planet, she had more than enough reasons to hate him, that she could let his words glance off without striking a blow, without catching where they might get beneath her skin. "How dare you? How dare you compare Cloud to that _monster_?"

"... because ShinRa made them the same." It was easier to look at Reno, as the words sank in, the obvious pity in Roman's eyes pushing her much closer to violence.

"How much did Cloud tell you, Tifa, about what Hojo did, the things that made him what he is? How much do you know?"

"I don't... he..." Tifa felt a flush of shame, trailing off. The truth was, she hadn't wanted to know. Hadn't thought to look and wouldn't have wanted the information had it been given to her. It was better, wasn't it, to just move on? Nothing any of them could do, to change the past, and bringing it up would just make Cloud hurt more. "He told me, that they hadn't made him a regular SOLDIER. He told me... about Sephiroth, and how... It was the reason, back then, with the Black Materia..."

Tifa blinked, the screamingly obvious finally hitting her, a slight twinge along a very particular scar, and she felt terribly cold, knew she was trembling whether it showed on the outside or not.

"He's back, isn't he. Sephiroth."

Reno shook his head, but Tifa almost didn't believe him - _oh no, Cloud. Not again, not again..._ It was over, goddamn it – why did nothing ever seem to _end_.

"No. No sign of him, or the space bitch, thank god – but that sure as shit doesn't mean your boy is anything close to full slots. Strife is killing ShinRa soldiers, anyone with a ShinRa nametag without any hesitation, and some of those reactors, if they'd been fully functional when they blew – well, you know what that can do."

He smiled slyly, and Tifa yanked the bottle away as he reached for it again.

Roman tipped his head, his voice still maddeningly polite, and calm. "The President believes – and the mayor, your friend Reeve, will back him up on this – that Cloud is destroying the reactors for a reason. They may be the only things siphoning off enough power, to keep him from his goal."

"His goal." She should never have invited them in. She should have thrown them out the door and kicked their asses in the parking lot, like any self-respecting business owner.

"He's controlling the Lifestream, Miss Lockheart. The Mako fluctuations, in the areas he's attacked, they're off the scale. We've had to wait to go in, in more than a few instances, until the levels tapered off - and there are other signs – earthquakes, electrical disturbances, spikes in all the readings we've been taking, since the Meteor was destroyed. The force of the Planet is more active now than it has been for generations, and somehow Cloud Strife has access to it. All of it."

_Aeris._

Cloud had said it himself, just before the final battle, but Tifa had been too afraid, too focused on what was likely to be the end of all their lives, to really understand. He was in the middle, he'd said, staring out the window of the Highwind, at stars that now seemed cold and flat and distant. It was a fight, between Sephiroth and Aeris, between the Planet and Jenova – he'd just been in the way, nothing more than a convenient tool – easily replaced, had he never come along.

A conduit. A puppet, no matter whose hands were on the strings. He didn't matter, except to save a world that had no place for him – and Aeris had done that. Aeris had given him the power to do it, and her death had been the reason he needed to win.

What was the reason to continue, though, when vengeance was gone?

Tifa had tried - god, she'd tried - but he'd pulled away – always pulled away – and his eyes had said all the words he never had: she didn't understand, she couldn't understand. At the time, she'd been hurt – but now Tifa realized he might have been right all along – she really didn't understand. Especially if anything the Turks were saying was true.

"Sephiroth wanted to destroy the Planet – Cloud just wants to scour it clean, return all life to the cycle and start over. Draw the Lifestream up, use it as a weapon against all of us – there wouldn't be any hiding, any running from something like–"

"I think you need to leave, now."

Roman seemed ready to protest until Reno bumped his arm, shaking his head slightly, chair legs scraping against the floor as they stood up, the younger Turk giving her a slight, polite nod, while Reno only stared down at her, chin back and shoulder cocked.

"If you see him-"

At least she didn't feel like she was waiting anymore, to find out what would happen next. Tifa raised an eyebrow.

"I'll let him know you were here."

"No." Reno shook his head. "If you see him – you should run."

* * *

"Fucking ShinRa bastard pieces of shit..."

Cid Highwind could easily list off the worst days of his life – he'd done it often, he was doing it now. The day his younger brother fell off the roof and died, just one of those improbable accidents, that was one he never needed to revisit. The day Shera had nearly gotten herself killed, trying to save his life – and all the days after, when he'd given her nothing but hell for the kindness. Most of the days of the Crisis – hell, he was all for pretending none of that had ever happened, losing the plane and watching that sweet girl Aeris die and blowing up his town and –

"Goddamn it!" Cid roared, crumpling the paper into a ball, though it hit the opposite wall with an unsatisfying lack of sound, barely a whisper as it dropped to the floor. He glared at the inoffensive ball, crumpled well past reading, but with the ShinRa logo still easy enough to make out.

He was alone now, on the bridge, which made the already large space seem that much more cavernous. The man who'd brought him the message had long since scurried away, not much interested in facing the pilot's anger, probably spreading the word to the rest of his crew – if it hadn't reached the other end of the ship by now, he'd be shocked.

The Highwind was going to war, the flagship of the air defenses against the Wutai insurrection.

Of course, he'd seen this coming. Of course, he'd heard the reports, ShinRa soldiers leaving the island with their tails between their legs, the few bases remaining at the edge pushing back with everything they had, more soldiers and more ships sent back by the day – forces ShinRa could not afford to spare.

Rufus had not fought this war before – but Cid had, and knew why Wutai had chosen the moment it had to take their country back. It had been an ugly, bloody battle the first time, and ShinRa was hardly the company it had been before the Crisis. In no way was he discounting Rufus, certainly the sort of icy, heartless little prick that could rebuild the whole business – but now was the time to choose his fights very carefully.

_Or a time he can't choose them at all. Show weakness now, and all the jackals in Midgar would tear him apart._

Cid bit down on his cigarette hard enough to split it in half, quickly stepping on the embers, too distracted to even care how he was grinding ash into his perfect floor.

_Yours? Your ship, your crew - as long as you're at ShinRa's beck and call._

In his defense, it wasn't exactly effortless to hide an airship, or keep it in fuel, or feed the crew. During the Crisis, it had been manageable, almost easy to get supplies from those willing to aid in any attempt to save the world, as well as those who were certain no one would survive it anyway. ShinRa had come to him in the midst of repairs, afterward, and Rufus had made what was for him, a rather generous offer, and Cid had known even then when he'd signed on, when they'd made him a general, a rank he never would have managed on his own, if he'd stayed in the military – he knew that it would lead to this moment.

_Air support. Bombing. It's not so bad, is it? Just like before – it's not like you see their faces, like you have to watch the effects of materia close range, on women and children. How fast... and the smell..._

Cid shut his eyes, trying very hard not to think about a certain conniving, thieving brat who spent her time insulting his ship when she wasn't throwing up over the side. Yuffie had always made it clear, what she thought of ShinRa superiority – it should have been a warning then, but he hadn't had time for warnings.

Hell, at the time he was pretty certain there wasn't going to be a future to worry about.

He'd had a lover, during the first war, all those years ago. When he'd been nothing but a gangly young pilot who thought he knew something - that it was possible to know something, anything – and be certain. He'd been certain, then, that this war would be the most significant thing to ever happen to him.

She had been significant, at least. A tiny little Wutai beauty, so small he thought he could put his arms around her and have her vanish, just feel her disappear. A few times Yuffie had shocked him with the memories, never knowing why. The familiarity in her smile, something bright and vaguely dangerous. He wondered if all the girls in Wutai were like that, passed down through the generations, so damn easy to adore.

Cid had been stationed in her town, met her one night in a small club where the music had been cranked up loud enough to nearly be seen, the brick walls shaking, and he hadn't been able to learn her name until the next morning, when his ears stopped ringing.

Two months later, the order had come to bomb the entire area. He'd lost track of her two weeks before, and every moment from then until the time he'd been in the cockpit, pushing the stick down, he'd been trying to find her, to warn her. Watching the town evacuate, watching them flee east with a sickening twist in his gut, knowing that was ShinRa's next destination.

It had been a bad war, even if he'd spent most of it in the air, and tried not to listen when the soldiers on the ground started telling stories.

"Goddamn. _Goddamn_." No stake in this war now, no reason to fight in it – to turn against an ally he'd only occasionally thought about shoving off the ship. Could he really go into this, knowing what it would bring? Hoping ShinRa would lose fast enough, that he wouldn't have to fight?

"The bitching would be more impressive if you ever showed results. I mean, you know, _ever_."

He didn't recognize the voice at all, and startled, because no one else on the ship had the rank or the balls to address him that way – but even before he turned, Cid realized who it was.

The glow from Cloud's eyes reflected in the glass, looking out at him from the dark.

It had been in the second half of Rufus' letter – half his justification for bringing the Highwind right to the front – that Cloud Strife was waiting for them, on the other side of the field. The kid had taken Wutai's side in all of this, not that Cid could really blame him. The only reason Cloud had left most of ShinRa alive to begin with was that there hadn't been much time to worry about it. Saving the Planet meant having to save Midgar from the Meteor – and really, it was probably a good thing Cloud hadn't had long to think about that decision, either.

Cloud was a difficult man to like, and Cid had never been able to manage it. Respect him, yes, and having any kind of SOLIDER on their side was good in a fight, even when it hadn't seemed he was on their side, even when...

The Highwind was hovering a half-mile in the air. There was no way Cloud could be here, now.

"Hello, Cid."

It was in no way a friendly greeting, and he turned, half-expecting to find himself trying to breathe through a sword – and the massive weapon on Cloud's back would certainly split him in half with ease. Strangely, looking at the man head-on was no relief at all – if anything, Cloud actually looked worse than he had with his features muted by the shadows. Pale, with the angular, near inhuman hardness most of the lifers – the front-line soldiers Cid had known - carried with them. Bare, impenetrable stone, what was left of a man after all that was fertile or soft or alive had been stripped away.

"Cloud..." He started, but no other words came. His ship was a half mile in the air, he thought again, stupidly. The bridge was deserted, but there was an entire other room keeping watch on the sky, five pair of eyes that should have seen him coming. Should have seen the approach of a vehicle, or a Materia, if he'd somehow – fucking impossible, but...

Cloud smiled, no more friendly than his greeting, and Cid was both glad he had his spear in arms reach, and painfully aware how little help it would actually be, if his gut instinct was telling the truth. Really, when was the last time it had lied?

_Ah, shit._

"I could hear you cursing from the ground. Bad news?"

Cid couldn't reach any of the alarms, didn't dare glance at the weapon he thought he'd already decided didn't do him any good. Nothing left to do but stand where he was, listen to the tiny sounds of the ship – his ship – and sometimes two years felt like no time at all, and sometimes it meant he wouldn't have recognized Cloud, if not for those burning eyes.

"You're with Wutai, I hear."

Cloud laughed – Cid had never heard him laugh before, didn't like the sound.

"When I'm not busy blowing up reactors."

A comment to that effect, at the very end of Rufus' letter, something about Cloud and surprise attacks, but Cid had been so angry at that point that it hadn't sunk in. What did it matter, when he would never see the man again? Cloud flipped his hands down, and then over, staring at his palms. "You know, I try to go with my strengths."

Cid licked his lips, blurted the first thing that came to mind, a question he never thought he'd have the chance to ask.

"Did you know we were all still alive, when you walked away?"

A few of his crew _had_ died in the crash, though if Cloud didn't care about the people he'd fought alongside, there was little point of pushing further. It didn't look as if he was even going to answer that question, taking a few steps to the side, looking down at the radar that should have noticed his arrival, should have registered something. If this was some sort of unearthly visitation, he definitely would have preferred the flower girl.

"Are you going to send Rufus a telegram, from the ship, to let him know you agree to his plan? Or will you go back home, and call him directly?" Cloud sniffed, almost primly, tracing two fingers along the edge of the desktop. "No need to go all formal and actually _visit_ – it's only a war after all."

Ah, hell.

"You've been in Wutai, all this time, then."

Cid felt suddenly, irrationally angry – it was panic, obviously, dressing to impress, but he preferred it to the alternative, especially when it seemed unlikely that calm, rational thinking was going to help him out any – not his strong suit, and not when Cloud was so much better – empty eyes, devoid of any hint of past camaraderie. Going through the motions of conversation, though the outcome was already painfully clear.

"I've been in Wutai."

Cloud looked up, and damn if it wasn't hard to look away, drop his eyes – unnatural. Whatever Tifa tried to pretend, however they all danced around the issue, Cid remembered all the rumors about the SOLDIER program, all the stories, all the times he'd overhear that another one had gone crazy and the number of bullets it took to stop them.

"Yuffie worries, you know, that she might have to kill her friends. I told her it would be all right."

No emotion at all in his voice, and Cid felt a cold chill up his spine, so pronounced he nearly turned to see what had been left open. He hadn't really understood it, when Cloud had turned against them, some combination of the shit they pumped the SOLDIERS full of, and maybe something worse driving him right over the edge. It seemed similar now, if a quieter break, as if Cloud never had the chance to fight back – or perhaps had even become accustomed to the schism.

Cid sighed, wishing there was anything he could do, to pretend he didn't sense the growing tension in the air. "What the hell happened to you, kid? I hear some bullshit, you've been blowing up reactors again? Still fighting ShinRa - and this Wutai thing is just the most convenient way to do it?"

Cloud took a slow step forward, and Cid realized he really could tense until his bones creaked.

"But we won that battle, didn't we? We're heroes. We fought the good fight – and now, there's another fight. Funny how that works." He smiled again, a small, secret smile that made Cid think of the north, the Crater, and just how damn cold it had been.

"You know, Cid, sometimes it just doesn't go back together."

Cid lept back, nerves making him overestimate the distance, crashing painfully into the table with a curse, scrabbling for the spear when it should have been an easy grab, and even as he threw himself forward to block the strike that had to be coming – Cloud wasn't in front of him anymore. He could have sworn he never took his eyes off the damn kid, maybe half a second –

"The trick is to catch the rhythm of the battle, use it. Fighting against it only slows you down. A friend of mine taught me that. Or maybe I taught myself – same thing, really." Cloud was behind him, leaning against the desk, still no weapon in his hands. Amusement in his smile, though it changed into something else when it reached his eyes. "You're narrowing your options pretty fast, for how little we've talked - or do I owe you money?"

"Strife, I'm not even sure you're _you_." The hairs on his arms were standing on end – it was cold in here now, if he exhaled sharp enough he was sure he would see his breath. "I'm not smart enough for this kind of shit. What the hell is going on?"

"Call it an exercise in perspective."

"What the fuck is that supposed to-"

A buzz at his hip, and Cid was grateful he didn't jump out of his skin. His PHS. Cloud raised an eyebrow.

"It's your wife, Cid. You should probably answer it."

Breathing a little harder than he ought to have been, Cid yanked the phone from his pocket, never taking his eyes off Cloud, wishing there was a way to hold the spear one-handed and not feel as if he was more vulnerable than he'd been with no weapon at all.

"Cid?"

"Shera? Listen, can you call back-" Fear had him slipping into a tone he'd struggled to never use on her again. Cloud shook his head, as if disappointed, and Cid curled his arm tipped the spear just slightly, to see what materia he'd bothered to put in the shaft. Nothing impressive, certainly nothing that might toss Cloud out a window, back to where he'd come from.

"I'm sorry to call, I just wondered if you were coming back by morning, and wanted breakfast when you got in."

Cid clenched his teeth, every shred of control keeping him from snarling out an answer he didn't mean, slapping her in the face with her own kindness, as he had so many times before.

"No. I'm coming down, in just a little while. I got a telegram, I think we're going to need to talk about it."

Shera was nearly as important as he'd become, ShinRa pulling in everyone they could, hiring anyone who could tell a beaker from a chocobo to help in the rebuilding. Shera had been working on the reactors, trying to help them create a more stable flow of power, with all the fluctuations –

Shera was working on the reactors.

Cid looked up, and finally realized just what Cloud's smile meant.

"-have to do with this box, then? More of a crate, really..." He could hear her moving, shuffling around, could see it in his mind's eye, the way she'd be tidying as she went, after a long night's work. Shera seemed to putter aimlessly sometimes, but Cid had long since learned better – how sharp her focus was, so much so that on the surface it could seem like distraction. She sounded that way now, muttering more to herself than to him. "Has a few ShinRa labels on it, but it was addressed to you, so I didn't..."

Cid couldn't hear her anymore, couldn't hear anything but the sound of his own breathing, as Cloud pulled something out of one pocket, holding it up to the light. Absurdly small, for all the time he'd spent worrying about Cloud's sword – he didn't speak, counting on Cid to recognize it from his military days. Just common knowledge, explosives and demolition never his specialty – but he would have known it even so, could have guessed. Detonators all sort of looked the same.

"Don't open it." He could hear her gasp, knew his voice had turned to a sharp iron bite, swallowed hard against the crush of panic, everything in him focused on the tiny trigger in Cloud's hand. No sign of any catch, or button, which meant it was already armed. Made it harder for anyone to stop it, to wrestle it away - the moment Cloud let go, the second it hit the floor -

"Shera, baby, I need you to get out of the house."

"... but it's..."

"Get out of the fucking house, NOW!"

A squeak, and sudden silence, even as he stopped breathing to listen – he'd startled her, and she'd dropped the phone. Not that it would matter, not that Cloud would let him stand here and say it if there was a chance she could escape. Cid let the phone fall out of his hand, just dropped it, leaning hard against his spear, no longer concerned with getting out.

"You'd get over it, you know." Cloud, distant, as if this conversation wasn't really happening. "I think you'd get over it, most people do. Enough time, and maybe you wouldn't even hate me anymore."

"What the shit do you want, Strife? Why are you here?"

Cloud continued, as if there had been no interruption. "You wouldn't even see it, Cid. You know how it works, this way. Just a little sound, this far up, and a bit of rubble, when you land. Nothing left to show that anyone was even hurt."

Eerily familiar to his earlier thoughts, and he clutched at the possibility. "You want me to tell Rufus to go fuck himself."

"But you can't, can you, Cid? You need the money. Your crew needs to eat, and you need fuel, and ShinRa is the only buyer. Even Wutai couldn't keep you with what you need – and there's profit, and Rufus will see that you get enough of a share to keep you happy."

All the arguments he'd used, to convince himself – and Cid knew, had always known that he would convince himself in the end. So did Cloud – and his expression had changed, no longer so flippant. Cracking at the edges, raw fury leaking through – and was it even possible, that his eyes were glowing just a little brighter?

"You can't do anything but what you have to do – so I can't do anything, but what I have to. Don't worry, Cid, I'm sure Shera wouldn't blame you. She never did before."

The deck swayed, just slightly beneath his feet. It took a lot of wind to move the ship, there hadn't been any sign of trouble so far, the reason he was on the deck alone, with most of the rest of the crew asleep.

"Cloud... please."

The last time he'd said the word, it was to ask Shera to overlook years of things he knew he couldn't be forgiven for, take an incredible risk, and be his wife. This time was harder, his heart sticking, as Cloud's grip seemed none too certain on all his future. "I'll do whatever you want."

Cid could hear something pop and snap at the edge of his hearing – it sounded like glass – and the light in the room dimmed, as three of the monitors cracked like gunshots. Where the fuck was his crew? Why hadn't anyone come to find out what the hell was going on?

Cloud was staring at him, expression twisted in rage – nothing sane there, nothing to be convinced or reasoned with.

"Do you know what she's _doing_, Cid? Do you know, or did you already forget? It wasn't convenient, was it, to have to think – easier to just piss on everything she died for, and pretend your pathetic fucking life was any kind of reason." His eyes flashed, burning ever brighter as the lights continued to flare and dim. "Aeris knows. She knows how you betrayed everything... she _died_ for this, for _this_, for your complacent, useless _human_-"

A familiar gesture, in all this madness, as Cloud cut himself off with a gasp, the hand not holding the detonator pressed against his temple – this was bad. This was very, very bad.

Blue eyes locked with his, one more time, but the wall wasn't there, the flat, mocking emptiness. He looked – he looked lost, afraid and confused and in no small amount of pain. Cloud looked like he did before, during the Crisis, just before Tifa would put an arm around his shoulders and lead him away, not allowing them to see him vulnerable whenever she could help it.

"She's having your child, Cid. A little boy."

All emotion drained out of his eyes, though there had been little of it there to begin with. Any vulnerability replaced with only contempt, and Cloud calmly spread his hands wide.

Cid knew he was screaming, but didn't hear it, lunging forward desperately, in what he knew would be a hopeless gesture, the deck of the ship seeming to lurch away from him, a cruel, unnecessary touch, and his hand closed into a paralyzed fist, scraping against the deck, watching the slim metal trigger hit the ground, bounce off the grate and away but it was too late, too late.

The sound that clawed through him was neither a sob nor a shout, completely overwhelmed by the sound of the explosion – he could hear it, even this far up, and damn but it was so loud...

The heat had to reach him, the flicker of orange and gold, before Cid finally realized what had happened. Feeling the tremors and shivers from the grate beneath his hands – Shera was still alive, perfectly safe on the ground, because Cloud had chosen to destroy his ship instead.

"You! _You_?" He managed to roar and splutter at the same time, on his feet in a heartbeat, rock steady even as the deck swayed beneath him. Hands clenching tight around his spear, it no longer seemed so futile, or at the least a bad idea to try to turn Cloud into a sieve.

"Perspective, Cid. You don't have to thank me."

Cid lept forward, deaf to the wailing sirens, the shouts and cries of the crew, attempting to deal with fires on what must have been multiple decks. Blind to the way the ground swerved out from under him, the entire ship shaking as if it might rip itself apart. Cloud knew the Highwind, more than well enough to deliver a mortal blow – and the size of that explosion, the way the ship was swinging suggested he'd taken at least one of the engines out completely, and might do more damage than that, if the fire spread.

"Crazy fucking bastard! I'll kill you! Fight me, you son of a bitch!"

Not the wisest thing he'd ever said, though Cloud did not seem to notice, or care. Impossible to hit him, if anything Cloud was faster than Cid remembered, dodging each strike with a practiced ease, as if the other man was not putting all he had into each swing. He never reached for his sword, never made a move to attack – not that he needed to, now that he'd crippled – perhaps destroyed – the Highwind, though it didn't seem like they were plunging out of the sky just yet.

Cloud backed out of the bridge, ducking and dodging, and Cid could hear footsteps pounding amidst the creaks and groans of the ship, the scream of the klaxons – and a group of his men, wide-eyed, scorched and bloodstained skidded to a halt just a few paces behind where the other man stood, blocking the path. Cid's chest was heaving, arms aching slightly – it had been a while, since he'd fought one-on-one. Cloud, not surprisingly, was not even out of breath. Watching him dispassionately, like a bug or a dull television show.

_Rufus thinks he can fight this. Somehow, he thinks he can win. Hell, he probably thinks it's going to be _easy_._

"So I can plant one bomb, but not two?"

The adrenaline had hit him so hard, he was so focused on waiting for the attack that never came, that the words didn't register, not until Cloud swung back, fist going _through_ the airlock door on the side of the ship, tearing it easily free, falling backwards into empty darkness – and Cid rushed after him, heard the sound of footsteps, hands grabbing wildly for his shirt, afraid he would follow the other man to the ground.

Cloud was already gone, swallowed up in the black, and Cid looked down frantically into the darkness – nothing. No sign of damage in the town, though perhaps a few more lights now pointed up in their direction. No second explosion, the bastard was just fucking with him _again_ – and Cid sagged against the door. Not again, fuck, not again - one time through this bullshit had been more than enough.

"Sir! Sir!" He finally turned toward the crowd of panicked, earnest faces – his crew, confused and wounded, and he bit back the moment of blinding rage, no help to anyone at the moment.

"It's the engines, sir, he got both of them. We managed to switch to auxiliary, but they're going fast, and some of the support struts took pretty serious damage. We need to get on the ground, right now."

"All right then." The ship lurched, and Cid reacted, slapping his spear sideways, across the gaping hole in his ship, bracing himself for a moment. Staring out into the void, air buffeting his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

_You know, Cid, sometimes it just doesn't go back together._

"Sir!"

Cid pushed himself back, shaking himself free with a violence he would regret, when he started to feel the aches and pains.

"Get something over this hole. Get everyone on the deck, and prepare for an ugly landing. We've all done this before, let's move!"


	8. Chapter 8

The Planet had given him back his life, at least for the moment; had given him a purpose, even if Sephiroth only knew the name of his target, and the faintest of memories. Getting off a deserted island, however, appeared to be a problem too small for their concern.

_At least they remembered to give you your clothes._

He'd found little more on the edges of the small island than splintered heaps of rotted wood that may have been boats, years ago. Sephiroth smirked to himself, that they seemed to think he'd just rip up a few trees, fashion a raft. Apparently, they'd joined the rest of the world in thinking everything ShinRa said about him was true, that the mighty Sephiroth could do _anything_, no matter what the situation. He'd had survival training, of course, and there were enough raw materials to eventually manage some sort of transportation, but he certainly wasn't prepared to bother stripping twigs with his teeth until he was out of other options.

It had been a full day and night since he'd had the strength to drag himself up off the beach, and stagger along until he could put a name to his surroundings. Mideel had never been much to look at, and he remembered his time in the small village now mostly by the buildings that weren't there anymore. The entire town had been subsumed by the Lifestream, though it did nothing more than burn at his eyes when he stared at it, no voices, no demands.

_No suggestions. No explanations._

A few broken-down shacks still remained at the outskirts, but there was little suggestion that anyone visited here, not even curious tourists – not even ShinRa personnel, which was odd. Mideel had been a small city, but a whole one, and he wondered just how long had passed – and what the hell had happened, that the Lifestream had burst up like this –

Nothing, even when he concentrated. No clear memory, his last vague impression one of a normal morning, paperwork and routine irritation. Nothing to suggest this kind of outcome.

Sephiroth put a hand to his head, one of those overdramatic gestures Zack would always try to use, to get himself out of a boring meeting, usually when he hadn't had advance warning to stab or shoot himself into the infirmary.

Zack. Shouting at him, and though the words were lost there had been fear in his voice and horror in his eyes, and Sephiroth knew him too well, too damn well to know just kind of nightmare it would take to put that look on his face.

_You did something. Something not even he could forgive you for._

Sephiroth's hand clenched tightly in his hair, fighting, demanding answers from the unwilling past – fire. Fire, and screaming. A city under attack... but from what?

Blue eyes, watching him, and even in his memory Sephiroth had to look away from the expression on the man's face. Cloud Strife, the only piece of sure information in the midst of the enigma, that he had been at the center of it. It wasn't much better than nothing, with the voices who had brought him here now silent as the wind.

_If it was Mako-based, it could have been anything. A mission gone wrong. A reactor explosion._

Ego aside, he could rule out the idea of capture or torture sending him over the edge, or a surprise attack he hadn't been able to repel. Whoever this Cloud Strife was, his current memories presented no reasonable possibility that the man could best him. If he remembered Strife at all correctly, it was somewhat of a stretch to even call him a _man_, his features smooth and delicate, surprisingly young.

_What did you do, boy, that they want you dead? Why did they choose me – why was I ever there?_

Most important of all - how had he died?

Sephiroth had never believed the popular, ShinRa approved notion, that the Lifestream was simply another form of energy, no different than coal or oil save for its higher toxicity and specialized handling. Gast had believed differently, and for all his faults, Hojo had at least shared that understanding. The Lifestream was a consolidation of soul energy, the collection of the consciousness of everything on the Planet that had ever been - not that it had made the scientist any more reverent, no use for sanctity when there was progress to make.

_How am I here, though, and still even me?_

If he'd died, there should have been nothing left of his body, and his soul should have joined the rest of them. Reborn again as someone new, or perhaps not even human. The thought had some small appeal, all his life – though even now, it was clear he was not entirely as he had been.

Sephiroth hadn't noticed its absence at first, the tattoo such a familiar, hated and unchanging thing, that when he finally _really_ looked, finally noticed it was gone, he couldn't do much but stare dumbly at his hand, spreading his fingers wide, as if he just hadn't been looking in the right spot.

_How much did you say you'd sacrifice, to be rid of it?_

What was the final cost? The lack of recollection there bothered him most – and with what he could remember, and the sick feeling at that memory... How many SOLDIERs had he seen lose their minds in Wutai? How many times had ShinRa announced a change, an improvement in the procedure, only to double back on themselves? How many failures, men who weren't men when they died – and how many had died only on paper, dragged to some underground bunker and tested and 'rendered' and forgotten. A good reason, ShinRa preferred men without close families for the SOLDIER program.

He was supposed to be perfect. He was supposed to be the best – but it was all ShinRa technology and technique in the end, nothing more. Maybe being perfect just meant it took him a little longer to fall apart.

Sephiroth swallowed, his mouth gone suddenly dry. It had always been a fear, perhaps his greatest fear. All the strength in the world, all the skill they could fix and set and work into him, and in the end he would still face an enemy he could not fight. Himself. Lose to the Mako, lose all that he'd fought so hard to take back from the ShinRa. Become nothing but a weapon, out of control – everything he'd always sworn he wouldn't be.

_Damn it._ Shutting his eyes was a mistake, all the easier to see Zack staring back at him from memory, still watching him in blind despair, disbelief. If he assumed he /_had_/ lost control, if it had been bad Mako or an overdose or simply his own body's betrayal – yes, Zack would have looked like that, in his memories. Just like that, before Sephiroth killed him.

_You knew you'd make him regret it, someday. Trying to be your friend – _being_ your friend. You knew what it would come to_.

Of course he had, but Zack would never listen, too stubborn to believe what even he had to have known was true.

_Not human. I'm not human, and I'm not safe_.

He blamed his preoccupation, for not seeing the threat before it struck, reflexes still a little slow with his body not quite believing he was alive. Still, Mako reactors always drew the worst kinds of monsters and large, standing pools of it were little better. He barely had a hint of any danger, instincts noticing the rustle in the bushes only a second before the creature charged, two steps all it needed before lunging straight for his throat.

A dragon, smaller than some he'd fought but no less lethal for it. He'd never been intimidated by the size of an opponent; a target was a target, a series of vulnerable points and methods of attack, whether it was only twice his size or as big as half a building.

If he'd had a moment's extra preparation – or his sword – it would have been over immediately. Instead, Sephiroth had just enough time to reach out, twisting as the teeth snapped down, grabbing the creature's muzzle and pivoting with the weight, sending it tumbling into what had already been a crumbling utility shed. Splinters and sand flew through the air as it dug its claws into the ground, righting itself with a furious snarl. The beast had lost the chance to surprise him, though, and this fight was over. It roared, and charged, and this time Sephiroth only had to wait for it to come within reach, side-stepping, bringing his arm around with one swift, open-handed blow that snapped the creature's neck. It stumbled and fell, dead before it hit the sand.

The jungle was still and silent – and he knew there would be no further attacks while he was here, if he saw any other life at all. The dominant predator – again – and Sephiroth stared down at the body sprawled on the sand, claws and fangs that had done no good at all against a much greater force than simple evolution.

_It's what they always said you were. It's what the Planet thinks you are, now._

A little disappointing, to realize the life force of an entire world could be just as stupid as the ShinRa. Assuming that they'd made him a weapon, and so there was nothing else there. Did they think he would have no questions, no concerns - just hunt down the target they had provided for him, and then wait to be disposed of once his usefulness had ended?

Bitter amusement nearly made him smile – he was going to disappoint them.

Sephiroth's sense of internal time had always been near perfect, and it couldn't have taken more than another hour to pace the edge of the entire town, this time carefully picking the wreckage for useful scraps. Unfortunately, at the end of the hour his prospects had not improved, for finding a sensible way off the island.

_You could swim it_.

Zack's voice, too calm and amused. A memory of some other beach, some other battle – Wutai, most likely, and a smartass comment he'd brushed off, just like the rest. Sephiroth hated more and more the way his gut clenched each time he thought of Zack, hands twisting in the folds of the only thing he had found of any real utility, a long cloak that wasn't much more than a piece of dark fabric large enough to cover him, with ample room for a deep hood.

Of all the disturbing impulses he'd woken up with, the urge to hide was the worst, and also the one he could do the least about. Even if Mideel had not been a ravaged ghost town, there had been a reason ShinRa had never managed to get him very far behind enemy lines in Wutai, without revealing his presence. Dye didn't stick to his hair, it grew so fast that anything but constant hacking showed little results. He was tall, he tended to wear black and even when he didn't – the damn _eyes_ - he was genetically predisposed not to blend in. ShinRa's poster boy, all the things they'd used to set him apart, set him above – they were liabilities now, even if he still wasn't sure why.

He waited a little longer, for any suggestion for the Lifestream, even a hint of impatience, but there was nothing but silence from the shifting green, little sign it was sentient at all. Bringing him back may have not been as effortless as he thought. Better to go back to the beach, then. Spend the rest of the afternoon picking through the more promising wrecks – there had to be one that could at least get him in sight of the mainland, even if he ended up swimming to shore.

"Hello, there!"

Instantly, his hand went to the hilt of a sword he wasn't wearing, and Sephiroth cursed his reflexes – too much at stake to act now without thinking.

"Hello! Are you all right? Do you need help?"

One man, in a small sailboat he was slowly bringing toward the shore. No sign of anything out of the ordinary, nothing untrustworthy. Sephiroth could see only the lines of several fishing poles, maybe a few traps packed at the stern. A good sign of just how much paranoia he had to look forward to, that it took a moment to bring himself to react, finally raising a hand in greeting.

He ducked his head down as the boat came in, turned to the side as he heard splashing, the man leaping out to drag it further onto the sand. The sailor kept his distance, and Sephiroth wished – despite knowing he had to get across somehow – that he'd simply gone back into the trees. It seemed wrong, difficult having to talk or just having someone else nearby, as if he hadn't had to do it for a very long time.

"Hey, how are you doing?" The man said gently, still making no moves forward. He seemed more interested in pulling a few crates from the back of the boat than anything, and Sephiroth watched him, as he dumped them onto the sand, fishing the few edible crabs out of a wad of seaweed and muck.

It was hard to stop looking, something in his chest aching, hollow, even if he didn't look anything like Zack. Light brown hair, and a few more years, a few more wrinkles than the other man would ever have shown. Maybe it was the ragged edge to him, the easy manner he moved around – or maybe it was the fact that everything and everyone would remind him of Zack from now on.

What had happened?

Preoccupied, it took him a few spare seconds to notice the fisherman's gaze had turned to him – curious, and he smiled gently even as Sephiroth pulled the cloak a little further down, grateful he'd tucked all his hair back, out of sight.

"Do you remember where you came from? How about your name?" He nodded, almost sadly, as Sephiroth said nothing. "It's all right. Mako poisoning, that's what got you." He lifted two fingers to his face, pointed them outward. "You can always tell - it's the eyes."

_Shit._ He really did have no way in hell of hiding himself, though the other man seemed content not to make a point of it, not trying to look any closer, still chatting as he continued picking apart his catch, dumping the tiny creatures, one after another, into a small pail. Sephiroth watched them crawl over each other, blindly frantic, reaching up to yank at their comrades, when one of them seemed likely to escape. It reminded him a great deal of ShinRa, actually.

"Sun-sensitive too, though it looks like you got off light, if you're still able to move around. Lot of times, it's hard for 'em to stand up, after they get hit." He had the quiet affectations of a man who spent much of his time alone, and was used to talking as if no one else was there. "I pull one or two of you off the sand every now and then, less these days then there were at the Crisis."

_Crisis?_ Spoken with gravity, though Sephiroth could not place any special meaning to the word, nothing relating to any of ShinRa's projects, even those that had been merely speculation – which led him to nearly asking, what year it was, even if the man would likely shrug off his confusion as an effect of the Mako.

_Maybe you don't want an answer_.

The man was staring again, and Sephiroth realized he still hadn't spoken. "You all right, then? Remember how to talk at all?"

"Yes."

It came out hoarse, and a little scratchy. Perfect for his cover, but Sephiroth disliked the frailty of it. He was not as scornful of weakness as everyone – even Zack – had always assumed. Only idiots – most of the ShinRa board of directors – feigned omnipotence, and it was just as easy to fake actual skill by simply pushing all mistakes off the board.

He'd spent enough time in Hojo's presence to have ample evidence – anyone could be broken, if care was taken in the approach. Weakness was natural, but showing weakness now would certainly get him killed; and for all his hesitation Sephiroth had no interest in leaving the life unexpectedly gifted to him, not until he had some answers.

"Well, that's good. On your feet, up and talking – you'll be just fine." The man seemed honest, kind, and Sephiroth felt the echo of a memory – a much older fear that had remained, no matter how many times he checked it. The need to get away, not for his own sake, but before he tainted that goodness. Before the inevitable – he couldn't help but destroy Zack, it was exactly the kind of thing he was created for – and he'd tried to explain and Zack had refused to listen...

... and in the end, he had. He _had_, even if all he knew was the sickening, paralyzing certainty, left to wonder in horror at the how and the why, what had destroyed the foolish attempt to be normal.

If he had any sense, any shame, he would go back to the jungle and never come out. Let the Lifestream do what it wanted or live the rest of his life in silent exile. Nothing good could come of him stepping back into the world. Nothing.

"So, how about a change of scenery? Get you off the island?"

"Yes." After a moment, he remembered this man was a stranger, and deserving of a little more respect than he usually bothered with. "Please."

Sephiroth was sure the boat would not stay afloat with the both of them inside, let alone sail, but surprisingly there was enough room for him to perch carefully on the stern, ignoring the tiny claws that reached through the bars, pinching at his makeshift cloak.

"I don't get much company out here. I'll talk your ear off, if you let me." A friendly smile, as he noticed Sephiroth nudging at the box of crabs with a toe.

"Sorry about that. Fishing's about the only way to make a living out here. The Lifestream does that, kicks up the critters living under the waves, makes for an easy haul most days – though I don't much go ashore, too many monsters there. I suppose they'll be in the sea, sooner or later. Wonder what I'll do then?"

The man quickly raised his sail, trying to pile his gear more compactly while moving carefully around the somewhat unbalanced craft. Nothing went overboard, but even the slightest bump, the bend of the waves, was enough to send a pile of gear spilling out across the deck.

He cursed under his breath, scooping it all back into the box – and Sephiroth was surprised to see a small, red diamond-shaped patch attached to a weathered blue shirt.

"You're with the ShinRa?"

Maybe they'd axed the naval budget since he'd been gone. The man flinched slightly, and his slight laugh was tight with nervousness – or pain. "Was. It's been a while." He looked up, curiously, as Sephiroth purposely drew back into his cloak. "Does it mean anything to you? Stirring up any memories?"

"... not really."

Nothing he wanted to remember, but that was beside the point. The man quickly stuffed the shirt back into the bottom of a taller box – and now that Sephiroth was looking, he could see the things he'd missed, because he hadn't been paying attention, hadn't thought he ought to be. The thin, white lines, neatly bisecting the inside of the man's wrists. At least he knew now, what kind of man went around offering help to strangers who hid their faces.

_If he's a SOLDIER, even without the eyes..._

Several side projects at ShinRa, amplifying strength or speed, trying to isolate certain traits without immersion in the full SOLDIER program. Most of them had worked far worse than even the unimpressive results of the total program, created and abandoned in the years he'd been winning the Wutai war. Still, it hardly took a SOLDIER's reasons for such a drastic act – and he hated, hated the irrational way his stomach clenched at such slim evidence, that the world might have changed a great deal, when he hadn't been watching.

"What's the last thing you remember?" The man said gently, the sail finally puffing outward as it caught the breeze. "Maybe I can help."

Blue eyes. The last thing he remembered was blue eyes, the thought that he didn't even know what he had done, or how he had failed, but that he would not ever find forgiveness. Whatever he had done was past all form of salvation.

"I remember..." He blinked, pushing back, and further still, to anything not truly incriminating, anything he could not remember as innocuous. "ShinRa had announced... they were building the prototype of some massive cannon. I think they wanted to put it in Junon Harbor."

The Sister Ray, and he'd had to stand there and listen to Scarlet proudly proclaim the success of the test of a weapon they didn't need - and Zack was right, her breasts did not move /one centimeter/ no matter how emphatic her gestures were – and Sephiroth would have reminded them they'd _won_ the Wutai war with little help from Scarlet's rotating retinue of billion-dollar liabilities...

He'd been tired. He remembered that. The war won, the great battle fought, but even the victory marches seemed vague and half-hearted. How could it be less – everyone knew Wutai had no interest in attacking anyone – a hollow nothing, beneath all the propaganda. He'd known that, Sephiroth had known that and sent men into it anyway, watched them get ground up and ground under as fast as he could blink – Wutai could never have won the actual battle, but they'd held their own in the war of attrition – and he'd fought Godo in the end, both of them knowing what the outcome would be, simply so Wutai could fall with honor. The other man had expected to die – it had been wrong, wrong for Sephiroth to let him live with that shame - but when the moment came he couldn't let the final blow fall.

So they'd come home, to a world that didn't notice they'd ever left. All the real celebrations happened quietly, privately, among men in bad suits in the highest levels of the ShinRa Tower. Small-minded men with squinty eyes and knowing smiles, clinking their glasses, watching their bank accounts rise. Sephiroth had been paraded around yet again, wondering if he wouldn't be doing the planet a great favor by tossing each of them – including the entire ShinRa board of directors, the President and his preening little nitwit of a son – out the window, one-by-one.

Greed without purpose, success none of them had worked for, or deserved. Of course he'd known it, had hated them since he was young, since he knew how to hate, but it hadn't been so blatant, so hideously apparent until that night. Every judgment, every harsh critique of them – all of it was true, and thrown into such stark relief Sephiroth had felt as if he were on a stage, set up among a chattering backdrop of fools, two-dimensional, not even as human as he could claim to be.

_What's the point of being human, if this is what it means?_ It was a dangerous thought – had been a very dangerous realization, even if he couldn't remember why.

The fisherman was watching him, and Sephiroth did not like the look there.

"The... you talking about the Sister Ray, maybe? Well, that was... uh, quite a while ago. I used to pull out one or two, at the start of it, they were pretty bad. Mako jumbled up their memories so there wasn't much left they could pin down..."

"How long ago was it? What happened here?"

The man frowned, and Sephiroth realized it was because he had to concentrate, to count back. "It's been three years or so now. Yeah, about that long."

Three years. Sephiroth had been bracing himself, knew it would be bad – but still, three _years_?

"Three years since the Crisis, I mean." He scratched his head – and didn't look in Sephiroth's direction at all. "The cannon, shit... I was just - that must have been eight or nine years ago, by now."

A decade. It was too much, even for him, even with that rational part of his mind pointing out the odds, given how long it took ShinRa to do anything, that he probably hadn't missed very much. Nothing to regret leaving behind - no loved ones, no one that he would have cared to lose track of for ten years – or who would have missed that he was gone.

The President, surely, would have been furious, whatever had happened. Hojo, as well. He might not have been important as a person but he was a damn expensive weapon – all he had to do now was go to the nearest ShinRa outpost. After ten years, he couldn't imagine there wouldn't be one in every town – surprised they hadn't taken Mideel back already. Go back, reveal himself – whatever he'd done, no matter how bad the damage, Sephiroth knew it wouldn't matter. He was ShinRa's greatest weapon – even in peace time, they would find a use for him.

_I'll die again, before I go back to that._

Honestly, he could now say that death was better.

"You said you left. Was it then? Was it because of this... Crisis?"

He watched the man's jaw work, and regretted that he'd asked. This was about getting back to the mainland, maybe getting a bit of easy information. Not drawing attention to himself, by asking pointed questions – even if he had always been good at it. Sephiroth wouldn't have asked now, but it was ask or sit in silence, and he needed all the information he could get.

"Yeah. I was lucky, I guess. I moved up a little, after I joined, but I was never really – never that great of a soldier, you know? Just a grunt working for a paycheck, hopefully a promotion. Everything was moving along all right - and then, shit, next thing we know the President's dead, Rufus is in charge, Fort Condor secedes... so much fun and so little time to enjoy it. We didn't even know then, hell, I'm not sure anyone knows _now_..."

The President wasn't interested in what had happened to him. The President wasn't anything, anymore. Ten years didn't seem quite the sacrifice they had, moments before.

_Godspeed you fat bastard._ He wondered how long it had taken the Lifestream, to render that much idiocy, to keep it from tainting the whole.

"A Plate dropped too – that was before the President died – or before Rufus killed him. Nobody really could say, for sure. Flattened a whole sector, all those people gone, just like that. God, and to think that wasn't the worst of it, to think then that it had just _started_." The fisherman took a slightly shaking breath, chafing his hands together as if to warm them.

"The SOLDIERs started getting sick. Real sick. The brass tried to keep it quiet – 'transition period' and all. It was like... well, Noel told me it was like it happened, sometimes, when the Mako treatments didn't take, or... SOLDIERs went crazy sometimes, and their bodies, they just fell apart."

"Noel?"

_Who are you, to play at confessor? As if you care_.

He did, though, stupid and useless as it was, for the most part. The health of the soldiers in his command had always been important, even if no one else thought he gave a damn. Even if their fear of him gave him little chance to help in any meaningful way.

"Yeah. He was... he was a friend of mine. Made it all the way to the top of the program - one of the best, at the time."

Sephiroth didn't bother asking how close they had been – he could guess, from the pitch of the man's voice and the way he didn't move, frozen in place. It was the way the company preferred it, truth be told. SOLDIERs were hard enough to control, to manage – SOLDIERs with families... there were a few, he remembered, but not many, and children – as far as he knew, it had never happened. Not successfully, at any rate. Many more broken marriages, or murdered spouses – infinitely better, when they just could keep it all in the company. Hell, he remembered ShinRa had been toying with the possibility of chemical castration, stopping the problem right at the source.

He didn't remember the name, and Sephiroth made it his business to know every SOLDIER, but a ten-year gap would have given ShinRa a chance to breed a whole new generation – given the life span of a typical SOLDIER, more likely two or three.

"Noel got tapped for SOLDIER just after – just about the time the cannon went active. ShinRa... they were upping the program, expanding the number of men who were selected. I was worried for him, you know? Mako poisoning and all that – a lot of SOLDIERs died, a lot of them never made it - but he wanted to. Wanted to serve, wanted to do good, and he was proud when they selected him."

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed beneath the hood. ShinRa, expanding the SOLDIER program? The Wutai war had been long over, even then, and he remembered quite clearly all the arguments that had sprung up afterward. ShinRa trying to shoehorn SOLDIERs into positions they had no business being in. He could imagine what they'd wanted more SOLDIERs for, but none of the possibilities were good.

"It seemed all right, at first. All these problems kept popping up – rebellions, and vigilante groups attacking the Mako Reactors. Monsters appearing – stronger ones, in groups – and the SOLIDERs were the best thing to send against them."

The fisherman pulled his legs up a bit, tucking his arm around them. He looked cold, though the sun was beating on Sephiroth's cloak, and there was only the slightest breeze.

"Noel.. he changed. I tried not to think about it much, at first. I knew... he told me, what happened to SOLDIERs sometimes. Just little things - hell, I hardly saw him for months at a time, they had him out on missions. But he wouldn't talk to me – or he'd talk to people that weren't there. Mutter to himself, when he thought I didn't notice. Started taking pills, pain relievers and that sort of thing. ShinRa had a supply for the SOLIDERS, but eventually even that wasn't enough – and so he started doing... other stuff, and then that stopped working too."

Dissimilation. The Mako Crush. Such a common, near-inevitable fate that the SOLDIERs gave it all kinds of nicknames, laughed about it amongst themselves. Nervous laughter, though, and usually only in foxholes, when the odds of living just to go mad weren't nearly as good as the odds of dying where they stood. Hearing voices was just the start of it, and though ShinRa ordered every SOLDIER to immediately report their problems, everyone knew there was nothing to be done. Reporting only had them lock a man away faster, watch him through a little window in the door until he wasn't a man anymore.

"The Crisis – like I said, that was the end of - you don't even know about the Crisis, do you?" Sephiroth shook his head, and for a moment he was sure he wasn't going to get anything more from the man. He was silent, lips pressed in a thin line, staring out to sea.

"Nobody knew why it showed up in the sky. It was just there, like a second moon, except you could see it the whole time, day and night. Every preacher worth his salt said it was divine judgment. 'Repent for the time of judgment is nigh' and all that. A big-ass comet, on a collision course. It was falling, it was gonna fall any day, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do."

It sounded like one of the plots of the action movies Zack used to foist on him on weekends, when he forgot to pretend he wasn't home. It didn't sound possible, or all that sane, really, except the fisherman was so pale, damn near shaking, obviously fighting for composure.

"Meteor in the sky – we were all fucked. The whole Planet, it would destroy everything. ShinRa was releasing strategies left and right – some rocket ship, some Materia project – but it's not like we all couldn't tell when they were bullshitting. Slapping desperate, last-minute plans together to keep the peace, as if we should all just keep going about our business. Good little soldiers and shopkeepers who shouldn't riot, shouldn't panic, shouldn't give up." He rolled his eyes. "... and god, then the WEAPONS showed up, and everyone thought Rufus went right after his father. Tried to use the Junon cannon on it – and that worked about as well as you'd think, against a monster that was a couple dozen stories tall."

Sephiroth had to admit, he was slightly impressed. He hardly thought the younger ShinRa had such an act in him, even if it had to be driven solely by delusional pride.

"The Meteor... once it showed up, that's when the SOLDIERs started dying. All of them, one right after the other. More than a few of them just disappeared – vanished, like they'd never been. The rest went insane. Batshit - threw themselves off the plate or in front of the express, or just got so sick..." He put a hand to his mouth, shut his eyes for a long moment.

"It was the first time they didn't lie to me, that they didn't even try. No one knew what was going on – Hojo had vanished, months before, but they'd covered that up and no one knew where he was, if he was still alive. Everyone just kept dying – and Noel died. Fell over on a mission and by the time I got there, there wasn't... he wasn't..."

Sephiroth knew. He'd had to kill his own, more than once, in Wutai, when getting them back to civilization was impossible and wouldn't have been any help anyway, when burying them in a shallow grave in the jungle was actually a mercy.

_You were always afraid for Zack. Afraid you'd have to do it. Trying to put together the perfect justification, to make yourself feel better._ He wondered what he'd finally come up with.

"I couldn't even be there in the end, you know? If I'd have touched him, he'd have ripped my whole arm off, even if he didn't mean to. I don't even think they were trying to help him. Just recording it all, jotting it all down so they could study it later. Like it mattered. Like anyone believed there would be a later."

"The last thing he told me - he told me to run away. Get out of Midgar. Made me promise. Said a pretty girl told him it would be all right. It wasn't all right, though. Whoever he saw, she fucking lied." He shrugged, gestured toward the sea. "We're all alive, though. We're still here. I guess that's something."

Sephiroth frowned. "How did it happen? How did ShinRa stop it?"

"Oh it hit Midgar. Hit it hard. Except..." The man lifted a hand, fingers extended, slowly twisted his fingers into a fist. "The Lifestream caught it, sort of. I was just outside of Kalm when it happened. Can't really say why – maybe ShinRa figured something out. Maybe the Planet had one up its sleeve all along. Holding out, until it really needed it. Not exactly a team player."

"Everyone... yeah, everyone I knew, for the most part. My parents, most of the soldiers I knew. Gone. ShinRa... I left, in the reconstruction – they were going to build it just like it had been. Anything they couldn't put back together, it was just because they didn't have the money, the men - yet." He shook his head. "I didn't... I couldn't stay, not after all that. I even got compensation, a little, from the stress and my family – never cashed the checks, just couldn't... So I came here, where it's quiet."

The man rubbed the heel of his hand against his right eye, and Sephiroth wondered if he'd expected to live this long. If he hadn't expected a storm, or an illness, or one of his sea monsters to finish what the Planet hadn't bothered to.

"Whatever's been going on for the last two years, I couldn't tell you. I hear things, sometimes, when I go into town. A new war with Wutai, problems with the Mako reactors they're trying to rebuild – it's all the same, they're just going to build it all up and knock it down again." He glanced over, and Sephiroth followed his gaze, surprised to see they were sliding past a sandbar, the shoreline coming into view.

"Hey look, we're almost there." The man grinned, some of it embarrassment. "Told you I'd talk your ear off, if you let me. There's a little town, about a mile or so up. Nothing much too it, but you can probably get a ride there, and there's a little clinic, they can help you. You seem to be doing all right – anything coming back to you?"

"Cloud." He might as well ask. If the Planet wanted him dead, he had to have at least a little renown. "Have you ever heard of a man named Cloud Strife?"

He didn't expect an answer, certainly not the immediate nod, the questioning glance the man gave him.

"He's the one who saved the world, some people say. Cloud Strife - the last living SOLDIER, the only one who didn't die, or go crazy and die. Nobody really knew where he came from, but he had, you know, the eyes, so he must have been a SOLDIER. Rufus never answered any questions about him, refused to comment – and you know, when ShinRa doesn't say a word, that's damn sure to mean something."

_He saved the Planet, and now it wants him dead?_

He couldn't imagine it, the face in his mind's eye much too earnest - too naive, if anything. Of course, Sephiroth couldn't be sure any of his 'memories' were real, this Cloud Strife could only have been an image given to him by the Planet. A lie, maybe, to manipulate him somehow. He'd lived far too long in ShinRa to take anything or anyone as it stood. He would have to learn more – a great deal more, as quickly as he could, if the world had indeed changed so completely in his absence.

_Still can't quite believe it? You were dead, not 'absent'. You were gone, and the world went on turning._

Not all that successfully, by the sound of it.

The fisherman gently steered the boat toward small dock, crudely built. It landed against the wood with a soft scrape and a thud, and he scrambled out. Sephiroth made sure it was firmly secured before he dared to move, shaking his cloak free of a few determinedly clinging claws as he got to his feet, made it to the dock. The man was sorting through a box of small supplies, nuts and bolts, and threw a hand back toward a dirt path through the jungle, little more than a set of tire tracks in the dirt.

"You walk up that path, it'll take you straight to town. It's an easy walk, no detours or forks - unless you need me to come with you?"

"I will be fine. Thank you."

So much easier to feel anger than admit to any fear – and he was angry, and the list of potential targets was growing by the minute. The Planet, the ShinRa – god, always the Shinra - and this Cloud Strife – whoever he was – had a great deal to answer for.

He hadn't made it three steps, before the fisherman spoke again, soft words barely audible above the waves hitting the shore.

"Everyone thinks you're dead, sir. You've been dead for years."

Really, he should have known better, than to think it would be this easy, that he could remain unnoticed. Sephiroth turned back – the fisherman was frozen where he stood, looking at his feet, rubbing nervously at the edge of a sleeve with his thumb.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't..." He swallowed hard, and tried again. "I served under y-you, in Wutai, right at the end of the war. You saved my life twice, sir – my whole squad, though I don't think you even noticed. You were an honorable man, the last honorable man in ShinRa. Everyone knew it." Fear, in his eyes – and Sephiroth wondered if it had always been there and if it had, how hadn't he noticed it was for him. "E-everything went straight to hell, sir, when you disappeared."

He looked up, glanced away just as fast – it was rare, the man who would hold his gaze.

The blue eyes had. Cloud's eyes, and there had been such strength in that gaze. Maybe they weren't the Planet's fake memories, after all.

"Where were you, sir? Why did you come back?"

Sephiroth couldn't answer. He didn't _have_ an answer, no matter how much he wanted to, if only for politeness' sake. The only thing he could offer, the only thing of worth was to start down the path and not look back. Leave this man to his quiet, simple life, and memories that – no matter how painful – were still in the past. Finished and safe.

_Why did you come back?_

Three steps into his journey, half a continent to his destination – and it was already much, much too short a distance to Midgar.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ah ken a man name Unca' Boney, wahk all day with a hammer an he plink... an a plink plink plink, an a plink plink an a plink was Uncle Boney."

Choba, the distinct patois of the swampland – they called it 'bayous' for the tourists - around Gongaga, had the benefit of being both incomprehensible to outsiders and incredibly annoying to most people from the cities. Zack had gotten into fights for the most mundane sayings, and at least half of his punishment laps as a cadet could be chalked up to a CO who overheard some of the more colorful colloquialisms.

"Ah ken a man name Unca' Boney, dalha all day with a cask in'a arm an he drink... an a drink drink drink -

He was certain Sephiroth would have banned the dialect entirely if he could – but there weren't many SOLDIERS from his part of the swamp, and it was difficult to say that leaving drunken, incoherent answering machine messages in Choba was any sort of violation, even if it was on the Commander's machine.

"An he think, an he think - an he drink drink _drink_ -"

Zack dropped to the ground almost before he knew why, one hand immediately over Cloud's mouth, though the boy hadn't made so much as a sign of life in the last four days. Listening to an engine pass by – not a ShinRa engine, this one had seen better days - though god, if he hadn't heard his share of official ShinRa vehicles in the last few weeks. Zack hoped the sight of a charred foundation and five very dead men might be enough to dissuade them – but it was what they wanted, wasn't it? Proof that all their work had not been in vain, a field test. Zack looked down at the kid in his arms, the same way he had since Cloud had walked out of that inferno, no longer anything Zack could recognize.

_He enjoyed it. You know he did._

It wasn't Cloud, though – the same way it hadn't been Sephiroth, and whatever nightmarish power had flared and died – god, let it be dead - in him now, that was what ShinRa wanted. What all this had been for, and they would hunt him until they found it, drag them back there and destroy whatever was left of Cloud, until only that thing inside of him remained.

"I ain't gonna let it happen, kid. I promise."

Cloud didn't answer, hadn't moved, staring blankly into nothing. Worse than that, of course, worse than just being catatonic. Or just crazy, because madness without anything behind it would have been so much easier to bear. The things that spoke to him – Zack had heard them too, in the beginning - but quiet, too quiet, and they'd given up on him. The Mako Crush, or something close, something _worse_, and they'd tried to accelerate it, push Cloud as hard as they could over the edge. Zack couldn't fight _that_, no matter what he might promise.

_Cloud could have killed you just as easy, but he didn't_.

Somehow, after all of it, after everything, the kid still trusted him. Believed in him enough to come back. Looked up to him. The thought was enough to make Zack stare blank-faced into the mud, well after the sound of the engine had faded.

_You get him back. Whatever it takes._

He needed to be crazier than this. Hallucinations or random twitching or a lot more talking to himself. Anything he would recognize as obviously crazy, so he had some sort of measuring stick as it got worse. Talking to trees or hearing voices – okay, not hearing voices, not like he had for a while back in that tube. Never again – but something identifiably crazy, if only to drown out the very sane voice of his conscience.

_The only reason you're still going. The only reason you're dragging what's left of him with you, is because you can't face how far you fucked up._

Zack grunted slightly, braced himself for the usual set of aches, dragging Cloud back off the ground. He was getting stronger, though the Planet only knew if he'd ever be the way he was before.

No thought of going home. Limited support in the backwoods and no safety either, no decent hiding places now that the ShinRa had been through. A reactor explosion – a goddamned _reactor explosion_ and even though Gongaga couldn't have been much the worse for it – hard to lose anything when you had nothing – it was hardly the point.

He'd junked the van into a small lake at the first opportunity, enough training and 'practice' with vehicles in Midgar to make sure it would stay hidden, at least long enough to matter. The lack of it slowed them down – as much as they had a destination – although Zack still tried to fake the appearance of forward motion. He even dared an hour inside a town library – and god, really, _him_? – and that had been where he'd found out about Gongaga, five years of ShinRa bullshit, and that there was no mention of Nibelheim at all. Such a small town – who would had survived, to tell the truth? Did ShinRa just gun them all down anyway?

"Shit, kid, and if that wasn't so bad, Junon beat us for the pennant again." Five times, but who was counting?

Zack had been so afraid to keep looking, didn't want to see what else might have been destroyed, what had changed even if he'd already lost everything that could have mattered. ShinRa was pushing new reactor construction – always – and everyone else was bitching about the same old things and he wondered if the odd sense of disconnect was exactly the way it would have been, had he been a ghost, watching the world spin on without him.

"Nnnn..."

He had gotten used to Cloud's moans and whimpers as near-constant background noise, could pick out the ones that were dangerous from the ones his body seemed to make unconsciously. Zack shifted the weight of Cloud on his back, long enough to reach up, wipe the sweat off his forehead.

"You need a break kiddo? Yeah, good idea. I think I could use one too."

Out in the middle of nowhere, reduced to eating whatever he could recognize from survival training – fish and rabbits and berries, mostly, though that was more Gongaga than anything. He'd been the first to scorn ShinRa's preferential treatment of the city boys – if you really wanted to create troopers that survived, take the kid who could slaughter and dress a cow before six a.m, and turn thirty different parts of a broken-down engine into easy bait and tackle.

So they'd survived, though Zack had no delusions that it was anything but the SOLDIER treatments that had kept Cloud alive. He still looked half-dead, and there was little Zack could do about it – he didn't have any plans to do anything about it, except throw them right back into the heart of it. It might be the only chance he'd ever get to save the kid, to bring him back – and Zack could find some place for him in the city, some way to hide long enough -

_Hell, bring him along. Maybe he'll go mental again, show ShinRa what all that hard work finally brought them. Suicide missions love company._

"We can sit down here, have a nice lunch. Well, we can think about a nice lunch, if we had any food. At least we don't have to worry about ants."

Zack didn't bother to laugh, wondered when he'd lost his sense of humor – after Wutai, he'd been pretty sure it was invincible. Cloud didn't care about that, though, or about eating, gone again, where Zack couldn't begin to follow. At least he was still breathing, shallow but steady enough. Zack wasn't sure what to do, if he did stop.

Merciful, maybe, to let him go – but the thought of being alone in all of this, nothing to even grab hold of, to remind himself it was real – for all his back-slapping and false pride, this was hardly just for Cloud's sake.

"You stay with me, kid. You just hold on, I'll take care of you."

Zack hadn't before – he'd fucked up, repeatedly – but given the current situation, he wondered if anything he'd done would have been enough to make the difference. With all that he'd seen, Zack knew Cloud's life had never been much of an idyll – from the very first time he'd seen the kid, trouble had been chasing him, out for blood.

"Remember that, Strife? Man, for such a quiet kid you sure knew how to leave an impression."

* * *

"Hey! Hey, the chocobo's back!"

"Come on, kid! You can do it!"

Zack glanced up, at the unexpected shout from the front of the car, and Katsumei chuckled, shifting over toward the window. The other soldier wasn't in the program, but he'd fought in the war, and the fact that they both looked more Wutai than Midgar had drawn them together as friends. The fact that Katsumei had friends in at least two bars per sector, and that he could talk his way out of any kind of trouble had kept them friends long after the war was over. Zack leaned over his shoulder, pressed one hand against the glass.

"Chocobo?" Usually, if he found one this close to the middle of downtown, it was because he had been the one to set it loose.

"By Holy," his friend laughed, "I never thought the kid would make it this far."

Zack finally saw the object of growing attention, though he had to adjust his view down a few feet just to see the blond, spiky hair. Not a bird at all, then, though whoever it was moved like one, bobbing up and down behind the mass of the crowd, a moment before the rest of him swung into view. A scrap of a kid in a rumpled ShinRa uniform – oh, he had definitely lied about his age - lunging over a railing to the raised area near the station. It was a rather surprising leap to take, especially with the stairs nearby, until Zack saw why the kid was running, a gang of four other boys – all in uniforms of their own – scrambling down the stairs after him. None of them were smiling.

"What's going on? What the hell did he do?"

Katsumei sobered abruptly, and gave him a strange, almost pitying glance. Zack reminded himself that though they were both dark-haired and dark-eyed, he wasn't the one only two generations actually removed from Wutai, and constantly reminded of it by every petty bastard the military could employ.

"He signed up to serve."

Zack had never been picked on much, even before the Mako in his veins made doing so impossible. He didn't think he was so far out of touch, though, that the only hazing he saw was simple stuff – demanding sit-ups from new recruits, sending the more naive out on endless bullshit supply runs. Mostly harmless torture for the first few weeks – it usually inspired camaraderie for the new ranks, a reason to work together and a goal to strive for, to fuck with the new group of recruits. Hell, he _still_ had fun pranking, as long as none of the senior ranks discovered he was still rather good at it.

Whatever was happening now wasn't any kind of game, that much was obvious. The four cadets in pursuit were much larger, obviously out for blood, and the kid was running for all he was worth. A cluster of soldiers near the middle of the train had opened their windows, shouting encouragement as the spiky-haired kid continued to elude his pursuers.

He had the advantage in the crowded station, using his small stature to squeeze through gaps the other boys couldn't manage – but he was damn fast too, and agile, taking corners with tight precision, jumping barriers without any hesitation. Zack wondered just how the kid knew where to jump, how often he had to do this, that it seemed he'd memorized the layout.

_Or he doesn't care if he misses_. Zack realized, and wasn't sure if his stomach lurched a little beyond the jerk of the train starting to roll.

"Come on, kid! You can do it! Go, go!" More cheering – this was an unexpected diversion, free entertainment always welcome, but Katsumei moved back, stepping around him quickly toward the rear of the car, pulling the door open.

"You shouldn't do that." Zack said, moving after him. "He could get hurt."

"If I don't, he will be."

The train was moving faster, and Zack knew it was already too late, no way the kid –

No way the kid was running on the platform right next to them, looking up but not really seeing either one of them, focused on the jump. He looked so pale, save for the deep red flush of his cheeks – just how long had he been going full-tilt?

Katsumei took a step back, pushing him out of the way, giving the kid a place to land. One moment, where Zack nearly jumped off the damn train himself, as the kid seemed to flag, the train speeding up – and then he was jumping, just before the end of the platform, tumbling through the door. Katsumei caught most of his weight, slowing his collapse to the floor. A cheer rose up from the rest of the train, but Zack ignored it, the string of comments and congratulations quickly fading back into conversation, as it was clear the excitement had ended.

The cadets were standing at the edge of the platform, letting out one last howl of anger and a few incomprehensible shouts as Cloud held up one hand, middle finger proudly extended.

"You shouldn't do that." Katsumei chided, though he was grinning, as he shut the door. "It'll just piss them off."

"They don't hit that hard." A smile, infinitely small. "Pussies."

The kid had his eyes closed, his entire body seeming to shake as he panted for air, sweat dripping off him enough to puddle on the floor. He looked even paler up close, smaller too, and despite the bravado Zack could see one of his shirt sleeves had nearly been ripped off, and there were cuts on his hands, and a nasty bruise just behind his cheek.

"How far did they chase you this time?"

"Sector Five." A second slight grin. "I thought..." He panted, trying to catch his breath as quickly as possible. "thought they wouldn't... see me. Didn't expect them... there."

Halfway across the damn plate, then - and though the kid's eyes were still closed, Zack didn't think he was exaggerating. Katsumei glanced up at him, backing off to give the kid more air, but Zack crouched down, rested his knuckles in the hollow just below his shoulder – this was bullshit, no way to treat anyone, but rather unsurprising in light of everything else that had been happening at ShinRa lately.

"You can file a complaint-" The kid smiled, and this grin was bitter as hell, and Zack felt a twinge of... something unexpected.

"SOLDIERS go through worse, every day, and if you don't like it, you can wash. ShinRa has its pick – nobody needs any cadet in the program. No one's special." Reciting verbatim from all the usual crap, the kid's voice soft and matter-of-fact and Zack wondered just how many times he'd had to hear it, even if he'd never complained about anything.

God. God in heaven, this skinny little nothing of a cadet was trying out for SOLDIER.

He looked down, pulled his hand back as the boy stirred, and didn't move as his eyes flicked open, and then Zack couldn't move for a moment, staring down into a brilliant blue like no ocean, nothing he'd seen before. Eyes open, the kid seemed startlingly fragile – and beautiful – and Zack knew it was worse than hazing, _knew_ it and knew the kid hadn't seen him before this moment, didn't realize he was a SOLIDER, to stare at him now in such absolute horror.

The kid scrambled to his feet so quickly Zack swore he could feel the blonde spikes brush the bottom of his chin. He knew he was smiling, could feel it, his best relaxed, easygoing grin, but he might as well have been ripping the cadet's head off for the look on his face, obviously trying to figure out if it was too late to salute. The smile was gone, the hint of pride, even his frustration – this kid wouldn't have asked him for help now if he'd lost a limb in the jump.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yes sir. I'm fine, sir. I hope I didn't cause you any trouble, sir."

He straightened up, shoulders back and body tense, fast enough to make Zack dizzy, but if he was still winded or weary there was little sign of it. Three 'sirs' in three sentences, and if he'd been able to fit any more in, he probably would have. Zack grinned, opened his mouth for the usual joke, startled he'd even noticed the tension in the air – that sort of thing wasn't usually on his radar.

"I should go, sir. Try and find a seat."

The kid saluted – painfully sharp and rigid– and somehow slipped around him, walking briskly down the aisle and through the door at the other end of the train, into the next car. He never looked back. Zack was in his seat for a whole two minutes, before he realized he hadn't even asked for the kid's name.

* * *

Zack jerked awake, arm instinctively tightening around Cloud's shoulders – though the boy hadn't moved an inch, eyes mostly closed, only the slightest slit of blue glow to show he wasn't actually sleeping, no matter how still he might be. One blink reminded Zack of everything he needed to know – he hadn't lit a fire, hadn't fallen asleep near anything that would crackle or rustle if he needed to move quick – and even as he rose, he knew they weren't alone.

The sound of pursuit was clear enough, sloshing in the water and snapping twigs in between, and Zack found himself holding back a burst of laughter, at a muffled but audible curse and a clearly audible admonishment. Prodigies and idiots, gods and fools, ShinRa was only capable of turning out impossible highs and lows – and this time, it wasn't the highs wandering lost in the woods. Zack had intentionally chosen the night's resting spot because he'd felt the prickle, invisible eyes on the back of his neck, and the only real way to reach him from the main road was via the heavily forested, mostly swampy land – though he'd scouted ahead a bit, knew at least two ways out.

_Tell me they're not fucking serious._

Listening for a few moments more, it seemed possible he could stay where he was, and they'd never get close. ShinRa had sent out everything after them, apparently. SOLDIERS of all ranks, all the way down to grunts like these – and even if they had night vision equipment, Zack doubted it worked all that well.

_You can start congratulating yourself, after you think about how they found you in the first place._

Zack snarled back silently at the reminder – he was doing better, but they'd been lucky so far, luckier than he had any right to expect. If he didn't get it together, keep his mind fixed on the plan, they were going to get caught again – no killed. He would make ShinRa kill the both of them, before he let anything else happen.

_I'll make it better kid. Either get you help, or make sure there's no one left who knows you're alive. You'll be safe._

Moving slowly, silently, Cloud slung over his back and a silent prayer to keep him quiet and still, Zack moved toward his first escape route, keeping more of an eye on the path in front of him than the soldiers behind him, in case they were merely flushing him out, to be picked off by real SOLDIERS further up. His eyes were as much a liability as an asset in the dark, but they'd trained him for that, and if he kept his head down, stuck with his peripheral vision the worst danger was Cloud, bulking up his best attempt at a low profile. Luckily, the kid hadn't made a sound – though that wasn't anything to call luck, and Zack still didn't know what to do about it.

_Only him they're after. Whatever they broke in him, they think they can still fix it._

Or maybe they didn't want to fix it. Maybe this was it, this broken thing he carried around that could kill as easily as breathing when it wanted to. What did they care for the body, for what was left of Cloud, when so little could turn him into such an unstoppable monster?

Oh, and if that were it, if that were _all_. It was bad enough when Cloud was so silent, pupils like pinpricks, the barest suggestion of breath – and even then, sometimes, Zack had to check, if only to reassure himself. Bad enough, when he was half-lucid, crying out for his mother or Tifa, screaming at memories five-years gone, but no distance between then and now for him, not in that timeless hell beneath Nibelheim. Struggling and fighting, until Zack had to blue bag him, just to keep Cloud from hurting himself.

The worst of it wasn't when even he was conscious and really _there_, watching Zack quietly with eyes so full of despair and disbelief and fear. Afraid of what had happened, in the long pauses between sanity, so much lost time. Afraid of what was coming, trying to pull himself back together before the next inevitable slide.

Afraid Zack was going to leave him – Cloud didn't always know how long had passed, sometimes apologizing for moments days or weeks apart in time, or things Zack didn't even remember until the kid reminded him. Always apologizing, and in those apologies there was a terrible forgiveness. Absolution before the fact, because Cloud knew that Zack would leave him eventually, that things would get too bad and he would go too far down, lost in that madness and Zack would finally give up, move on.

Cloud forgave him everything, believed he was worth nothing and that Zack had not failed him over and over and over again. Promises forgotten and abandoned and even Cloud's forgiveness then, that belief in Zack where no belief should have survived – that wasn't the worst.

"I ever tell you about my girl, Zack?"

Zack had thought Cloud was all right, then. He'd been calm, quiet and his gaze was steady enough. At first, Zack had thought he meant Tifa, that he'd either known the girl more than he'd let on, had been too shy to say it all outright, or that he'd convinced himself of more, trying to fight that horror with any good memory he could patch together.

"I think you'd like her. A Midgar girl, though she doesn't look it. Her name is Aeris, and she's so pretty. She's got these eyes-"

"- you've never seen eyes like hers, not even on a SOLDIER." Zack finished right alongside Cloud, listening to the same tone, the same infliction. If the kid's voice hadn't been slightly higher, there wouldn't have been a difference at all.

"Nah, kid." Zack said quietly, muscles locked so tight they ached. "You been holdin' out on me all this time. So what's she like?"

Cloud told him everything, quietly, the story of Zack's own romance. When he'd met Aeris for the first time, how it all seemed to fall into place, every detail down to the color of the ribbon in her hair, and the way her hand had slipped into his like the careful perch of some fragile bird. Except now, of course, it was Cloud who had met her and Cloud who had smiled and his hand she'd taken, so gracefully.

How many times had he told the kid that story, scrabbling together for any scraps of joy, anything beautiful that he could say out loud, as if the cold, dead air of the lab didn't kill it all anyway, As if the words seemed like meaningless lies with the two of them buried so far underground, abandoned and forgotten. Cloud knew them all, and somewhere along the way he'd abandoned his own life in favor of those stories, telling the story of Zack's life back to him as if he were a stranger.

Straightforward – Cloud seemed so normal, not screaming or crying or begging but sitting there telling the story of a life he'd never lived, in Zack's voice – and it wasn't really bad, even then, until he started talking about Wutai. Not just the stories Zack had dug up of heroic deeds and pranks and actually getting a bucket of barbeque wings into the interior. Watching the playoffs that year on a screen about three inches wide in black and white with static so bad they had to guess at the action while Sephiroth pretended not to notice they'd 'borrowed' it from one of Scarlet's new useless machines.

Cloud knew the other stories, the ones Zack had no reason to tell anyone, ever again, and he racked his mind for when and where, the times Hojo had left him raving – had it been then? Had he told Cloud then, about villages they'd razed and secret missions, battles that were ugly, hideous even when measured against Nibelheim.

Sephiroth – shit, Cloud knew all about Sephiroth now, and all the missions he'd gone on with the General - of course the kid had made SOLDIER, gone to Wutai, won the war. Cloud rattled off dates and times and details, all in that same soft tone, the hint of a Gongaga accent hanging at the edges of his vowels, even shrugging in all the right places – and just when Zack thought he couldn't take any more, of course it had gotten worse.

Cloud kept going, rattling off more about Sephiroth than he'd ever heard, ever before. The early years of the SOLDIER project, the precise circumstances of his creation, and Zack couldn't even tell who Cloud thought he was anymore, as he talked about invasive procedures and extensive testing and a thousand top secret injunctions meant to hide all they'd done, how far they'd gone, how far Hojo was willing to go to get what he wanted.

Classified, and brutal, and so unimportant now, all of it meaningless and still it had taken so long to notice the tears falling from Cloud's eyes, the look there – the part of him that didn't understand what he was saying or why. That was when Zack had crawled across the space between them, crushed Cloud against him until the words stopped and all he could feel was the boy trembling like some small creature terrified past anything but a pounding heartbeat.

"God, what did they do to you, kid? What the hell did they do?"

He never stopped asking the question, not really, even slogging through the mud in the middle of the night, trying to keep his footsteps light as possible. Listening to the sound of gunshots – blessedly far behind him – and angry shouting, as the soldiers finally flushed a deer with all their noise and shot it down. Too damn bad they were too far north for alligators.

Chasing him through a fucking swamp, in the middle of the fucking night. Zack wondered how they managed to justify the orders for his capture to the SOLDIERS they'd told, men he'd served with in the Wutai war. Insanity, probably – then again, the President probably had more time than he'd needed to replace the entire ranks with Mako-charged thugs who would do his bidding, no questions asked.

_The Turks knew about you. Knew you were down there for five fucking years. Hojo wasn't alone, when he came to Nibelheim. The Turks knew. Tseng knew. Rufus knew._

All that time, they'd known. The thought repeated itself, even obvious as it was. Of course he had known they were ruthless. Monsters, or at least much closer to them than even the most crazy SOLDIER ever came. Cold-blooded, merciless – it was a virtue for them, to see people as disposable resources, and that was on a good day. Still, Zack knew they found Hojo as repellent as anyone else had – only President ShinRa had been the sort of moral vacuum to find the man useful, and Rufus hated his father as much as anyone, they all knew that. SOLDIERS and Turks didn't get along, but at least it had been a friendly hostility, hating the company just as much as they hated each other. He didn't think Tseng would have saved them in Nibelheim – but he thought the man would have put a bullet in him, before ever giving him over to Hojo. Professional fucking courtesy.

Eventually, he was going to return the favor.

The only thing he could do now was keep moving, day after day, a twisting, circuitous sort of route – changing direction each time the ShinRa drew close – and eventually, it would take him to the coast – and from there, somehow, over the sea. Back to Midgar, because there was no other choice, might not have been another choice even if they weren't being hunted down every second of every day. He had to be strong enough, by then – had to be.

_Find a way to help Cloud, find someone who can help him. Or kill as many of them as you can, before they get you. Stupid, pointless revenge. Get Hojo. Make him scream._

Zack waited for another option to present itself, one that was actually sane. Prayed it would, even as he kept them moving toward the sea.

* * *

Katsumei's girlfriend had left him for a plumber halfway through his first tour. A plumber. A _plumber_. He'd repeated the word as if eventually he could force an explanation from it. Zack had offered to buy him a beer, and they'd both gotten shitfaced and then in a fight and then thrown out, Katsumei landing on top of him but polite enough to puke only after he'd rolled off. It had been the start of one of Zack's longer-lasting friendships, well-lubricated by beer and the fact that Katsumei always picked up a girl for him when they went to the bars – or threw chairs with the accuracy of a Turk sniper, when they picked up trouble instead of girls.

The night he'd met Cloud for the second time, there hadn't been girls or brawls, but there had been a new beer on tap and Zack had decided to welcome it with an open wallet. Neither of them were all that drunk – Katsumei had a shift the next day, and the fun of being a SOLDIER meant Zack had to start drinking two days in advance, to have much hope of feeling it on any given night. Not a challenge he wasn't happy to accept, but Sephiroth tended to frown on him pouring shots before lunchtime. Offering to drink straight from the bottle hadn't gotten him much further.

It was a quiet night, smelly and humid as ever below the plate, but Zack didn't mind, a childhood in Gongaga left him quite familiar with too many things no one in their right mind would ever want to smell – and his mother had been responsible for cooking half of them. Katsumei was quiet, looking up as if he were gazing through the plate at the stars, and there hadn't been a whole lot to say. Late enough that even most of the nightly crowd had moved along, and it was fairly silent – until Zack looked up at the sound of footsteps, loud shouting distorted by the tall buildings into meaningless sound.

The street was uneven, and Zack vaguely remembered the rickety bridge that had connected where they were with the other, higher side. Recently removed, to make way for a more permanent structure, to try and smooth out the difference, though he doubted it would help much. Leave it to ShinRa, never allowing quality to surface where a half-assed patchwork would suffice.

All the noise came from the other side of the street, and Zack saw a shape dart from around a corner a few buildings down, recognized the blonde shock of hair instantly. The kid again, running as fast as he had been by the train depot, chased by the same crowd of thugs, as if he'd never really stopped. Running toward them – probably hadn't been down this way, since they'd taken out the bridge. Zack frowned, ready to shout out a angry warning to the small pack of cadets out for blood – really, what the hell could a little guy like that have done, to keep their attention like this?

Once they got close, and the kid stopped, he'd be able to call out, warn them off. No way any of them would have the guts to beat up a cadet in front of a superior officer, a SOLDIER, even if there was a gap between them. Zack froze, as he realized he wasn't going to get a chance to play the responsible commanding officer – because the kid wasn't going to stop.

"You think he's going to make it?"

"No." Zack said, and unlike his friend, there was no laughter in his voice, seeing the horrible truth moments before it was about to happen. "No, he's not."

The kid was still moving fast, quickly running out of the space it would take to even skid dangerously to a halt. Was the angle wrong? No, if anything he had a better view than Zack did, and he had to realize there was no way he could make the jump to the other side, barely a safe place worth trying to land if he did. Zack started to shout out a warning – and that was when the cadet looked up, staring at him across the distance, with grim, determined fatalism and the smallest, bitter smile.

_He knows._

He knew he wasn't going to make it, and it was still better than the alternative.

Zack was running then, long legs eating up the distance, and he was grateful for the way his body could react, when his mind was still standing frozen, several steps behind. He reached the edge of the scaffolding just as the kid threw himself off the edge of the road. It wasn't a suicide exactly, Zack could see him kick out, fighting gravity for every inch – but he'd known what would happen, the reason he'd smiled. Knew that the moment he seemed to hang, weightless, was just an adrenaline-laced illusion on both their parts. Blue eyes widened in fear, one hand reaching out desperately, flailing in empty space. Zack's own hands were pulling him forward, leaping across the series of pipes and boards without looking down, his eyes on the kid, on the one moment he would have to intercept.

The world snapped back into normal speed, and Cloud fell silently, plunging past him, and Zack felt all the air rush out of his lungs, a high pitched whine ringing in his ears as he dove forward, stretching out with everything he had, vaguely unsure of his own footing – and caught the kid solidly around the upper arm, reaching out to brace himself on a pipe, twisting as well as he could, to keep from yanking the trooper's arm out of the socket. He still heard a yelp of pain, the cut-off breath as he banged into the pipe beneath him, but Zack looked down past that, the yawning chasm past the kid's toes, empty air and beams like jagged teeth, all the way to the bottom of Sector Three. Close, too damn close.

"Hold on. I got ya. I got ya." He winced, probably pulled something a little, from the initial impact, but now it seemed there was hardly anything to hold. Zack looked up at a sound from above, the cluster of other cadets standing at the edge of the street, watching him in stunned, wide-eyed surprise, until they finally noticed he was staring back, and scattered.

Zack checked to make sure his footing was solid, glad to see his skills hadn't completely abandoned him in peacetime, and hoisted the kid up into his arms. It was like carrying a sack of chilled sand, and Zack could feel him pant and shudder, wondered just how long he'd been forced to run. One small hand reached up, splaying weakly against his shoulder, and Zack grinned.

"I... I can walk, sir."

"Let's get you back to solid ground first, ok?"

He took his time, maneuvering a little more slowly back through the maze of pipes, quietly impressed with himself, how he'd managed to maneuver through the unfamiliar obstacle course. Zack glanced down worriedly, as the moments passed, and the kid did not move, or say a word, the blue eyes dazed, staring out at nothing.

"What's your name, kid?"

He startled so hard Zack had do adjust his grip, eyes darting up to Zack's and then away, obviously wishing there were a way to escape, or at least a floor to stand on, before finally collecting himself enough to answer.

"Strife. Uh... Cloud Strife, sir."

What a name. No wonder he'd been this year's target. Zack fought a smile, certain it wouldn't be taken well.

"You learning to fly, Strife?"

"What... I mean no. No, sir."

In most cases, this would have been Zack's place to offer some vague, slightly condescending advice for the poor lower ranking kid he'd just helped out of a jam. Tell him to buck up and fly right, maybe take a few of his adversaries on one at a time until they learned better – but Cloud was maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, and was still probably lying about his age.

"Where'd you come from? Before this?"

Keeping calm, just shooting the shit, too aware how tense he still was – close, it had been a close save. Not sure he'd get an answer, so when the kid spoke softly, he nearly missed it.

"Nibelheim, sir."

One minute to think about it, and another to try and place it.

"Small town, in the mountains?"

"Yes sir."

Two words, but even they were strained, terribly uncomfortable, and it was clear Cloud had every intention of bolting again, the moment he had solid ground beneath his feet. Zack took his time coming down, wondering if it had been the same gang of punks as the first time, or if Cloud was – quite possibly – the target of every enlisted cadet in need of a punching bag. It seemed likely – though the bruises may have been regular signs of training, the overall flinchiness spoke of more, the way Cloud kept his face down and to the side. Tense, trying to calm his breathing, trying to avoid saying or doing anything that might make Zack angry.

"Must be hard, adjusting. I'm from the country too. Gongaga."

"It's.. it's not so different, sir." Trying to keep his calm, trying not to say too much, though Zack could fill in the spaces between words – that there was little difference, if Cloud got beat up by thugs from the country or ones who were city-bred.

Finally they were back on the ground, Katsumei waiting, quiet but obviously impressed with the save. As Zack set the kid on his feet Cloud shuffled slightly, head down, obviously waiting until he could flee.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

One blink, but the other man caught on quick, glancing down at Cloud once more before shrugging. "Sure. Later."

He saw the cadet look up at him then, those wide blue eyes so expressive in their shock and terror, even in his peripheral vision, but Zack pretended not to notice, taking off along the longer path that would lead to the barracks – he sure as hell wasn't going to trust the kid to make it back safely, not after what he'd seen so far. It took Cloud a moment to get over the shock, but he shuffled up quickly beside Zack, breathing quietly but otherwise staying quiet. Zack could almost feel the anxiety knotting the kid's muscles – as afraid of him as he was of the bullies he'd been running from.

"So, you still trying out for SOLDIER?"

"Yes, sir." Obviously surprised Zack remembered him at all. Still flinchy, expecting a rebuke.

"Why?"

Pinched eyes, the slight frown, trying to find an answer that Zack wouldn't find foolish, and coming up empty. "I... I need to be stronger, sir."

So much for hoping it might be something less sensible, less important than the only thing he might be living for. One sentence that let Zack know just how it stood. Trying to argue him out of it would be worse than letting him fall.

"I guess that makes sense. Last time I saw, you weren't having much luck either."

Zack knew what he was supposed to say, how being timid and skittish and the focus of so much abuse was hardly a good thing for a man, let alone an enlisted man, and certainly not in anyone who wanted any chance to make SOLDIER. He knew that he was supposed to be kind, but realistic, and vaguely disgusted with Cloud for his nervousness and his fear and that little bout of shameful self-destruction they'd both been witness to.

"I... no sir. I'm still working on it, sir."

He wondered how many of the drill sergeants had looked at Cloud the same way those other cadets had, how many of them had said everything he'd just thought and then some – and afterward, all Cloud had to look forward to was another round of being treated as the barracks' fox, chased and tormented. No peace from it, no reward for it, just the continued disdain of his superiors and the torture or indifference of the other soldiers. A few unconnected, barely interested men, cheering for him on a train, probably the only support he ever had.

"How long have you been here, Strife?"

"Nine months, sir. I... I just missed the deadline for the SOLIDER tryouts, last time."

Zack didn't want to think about that too hard – nine months of this, maybe every day, and he was still here. Luckily, Cloud still wasn't looking at him beyond one or two quick glances, to try and measure his expression, and he could keep himself mostly neutral, as he tried to figure out what to do. The kid had a goal, an insane, impossible goal – and whatever the officers might say about it, however they might judge him, he was fighting. Knowing he wasn't good enough, strong enough, knowing he couldn't stay invisible – and he'd traveled halfway around the world, to try anyway. Zack had to admire that, even if he wasn't so sure that underneath the cautious fear and silence, the kid was a lot more than just a tenacious little bastard.

"Who is it, that's been causing you so much trouble?" He had a few guesses, but had been focused more on Cloud than his pursuers, and didn't want to wait for a third time, to be sure.

Cloud stiffened, Zack saw it – god, he really had bought in to all the military bullshit, all the codes of honor and loyalty that got all the best soldiers killed. Even Seph had gotten over that long ago, though the man's own inner code of honor was more than dumb enough to make up for it, in Zack's opinion.

"It's... no one in particular, sir. I was just... usually I don't even get noticed, but I had to go out tonight, and..."

He'd dared to act normally, to be off his guard, and it had almost killed him. Still so flinchy, still expecting Zack to ream him out for being the small and obvious target, and he tried to gentle the tone he already used for handling field cases, soldiers who'd freaked out on their first time in battle, who didn't understand that there wasn't anything to be ashamed of. War wasn't ever the sane, rational thing they all pretended it was – and sometimes life wasn't much better.

"You could have died out there, Strife. If I hadn't been there, I don't think your fellow soldiers would have had any reason to even call someone to scrape you off the pavement."

Cloud didn't react, though Zack was fairly sure he'd set his jaw, trying to keep as calm as possible.

"I'm all for good fun, and I put enough recruits in lockers in my day – hell, I still do, only now they thank me for noticing them – but this is bullshit, we both know that. Getting away with it now only teaches them they can get away with it out in the field, and that's going to get a lot of people killed."

Possibly less than fair, pulling the 'in the real war' card when Zack was fairly sure they'd run out of places to have a real war, but Cloud swallowed shakily, and quietly rattled off a few names. Zack recognized one or two as ones he'd heard other men complain about, though he'd hardly expected Cloud would lie to him, too afraid of what he might do once he found out. Zack was half tempted to keep them out, to see how long it would take before Cloud wasn't so abjectly terrified.

The barracks were well lit, quiet – Cloud was out past any semblance of a normal time, but SOLDIERS were allowed any damn thing they wanted in regard to curfew and all other minor restrictions – Zack had tested them all, to make sure – and the man at the gate looked from him to Cloud and let the boy through without a question. Zack waited until he was inside – blue eyes glanced back once, though Cloud quickly turned back, surprised to find him watching. Hopefully, someone would mention they'd been seen together. It might cut the kid a slight break, though Zack had every intention of writing up the other recruits as soon as he could.

Sephiroth always noticed, always made fun of him for picking up a new 'stray,' and Zack knew he had a special case, this time. It remained to be seen, how he might help the kid, but he'd caught Cloud from that fall, saved his life. An old Wutai proverb – the life he'd saved, he was responsible for it now, and Zack had seen the work of those gods, when you pissed them off enough, to really want to cross them.

* * *

Zack had stopped noticing the trees, except for that corner of his brain that always noticed the trees, searching for hidden traps and triggers so many years after Wutai. He shut his eyes, rubbed his hand over his face. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, his mind was still fixed on imagining him more enemies. Across the fire, the kid was slumped down – eyes open, but barely tracking. It was late enough, that Zack wasn't even as upset as he knew he should be.

"You would have loved the Wutai war, Cloud. Great preparation for being shot in the ass by your own team. Tseng is from Wutai, did you know that? All sorts of rumors, why he fucked over his own country so hard. Hell, half the time they thought _I_ was from Wutai – and they weren't nearly as surprised as I thought they'd be."

He'd said all this before, hadn't he? Lived this whole day before, and a dozen just like it. Maybe you couldn't really go crazy unless you thought you were sane.

Zack didn't know why he was obsessing over the leader of the Turks, over the thought that Tseng hadn't killed him in Nibelheim, or hadn't found him and killed him later. Hell, even a yakuza thug had some concept of honor – hell, anyone with _eyes_ and a working frontal lobe knew that Hojo was human only by the loosest definition, that leaving anyone in his 'care'...

Zack shuddered, let his mind go back to pondering revenge, sharpening that edge. He was going to kill Tseng, if possible, and he wasn't so alarmed to realize it would feel really, really good to do it. Midgar had a lot of very useful vertical surfaces, for watching things disappear. The edge of the plate – fuck, for a Turk it would have a poetic sort of irony. If only he could make sure to keep him alive, before they got there.

No pursuit now, for the better part of two weeks. Zack almost hated it, it loosened his guard for no good reason. He knew they were still out there, searching. Cloud had to be a million-dollar project, for all the cover-up, for five years of effort. Even if he wasn't, ShinRa threw money after bad money so often it was probably an official line in the budget – he was sure Scarlet had paid for a whole new body and three increases in cup size by figuring out how to mark it as a strategic growth initiative.

He was talking too much, but Zack knew he'd never been quiet, and he was still bleeding stories from their escape, the hell in Nibelheim still had him hemorrhaging words, and he hadn't figured out how to stop it.

"Did I tell you about the parades? After we got back? Total crap. We'd bleed and die and have them tell us they couldn't send reinforcements – god, you should have seen the bullshit Se-" Zack caught himself, before he could say the name. He tried not to say it, tried to think it as little as possible. "The total shit we had to work with – and then they'd parade us out as heroes. Used to hate them, fucking parades... wouldn't mind one now."

The fire popped and crackled, though it wasn't the comforting sound it had once been, and Zack didn't like staring at it. A right pisser – he couldn't remember who had said it, one of his old CO's – but he was right. The whole thing was a right pisser, and he could run away from the ShinRa and the SOLIDERS and anything else they wanted to send after him. He might still get away, but it still felt like Nibelheim was hanging just over his shoulder, chilling and silent and waiting for him to return, and Zack looked back into the tree-studded darkness too much for his own liking. Jittery enough tonight, for no good reason, that it took him a moment to see that Cloud had no problem staring into the fire, long enough that the tears were running unfettered down his face.

"Aw, shit, Spike. Shit."

He couldn't remember when he'd started using the nickname, only that Cloud hadn't liked it, which was all the incentive he'd needed. It was just so... apt, when Zack had never thought he'd find anyone with crazier hair than his. Even wet, the blonde hair stuck up stubbornly – a good match for its owner.

"Kid, you gotta blink once in a while."

Zack shuffled over, reached out, wiping the tears away with his thumb, holding back a sigh of relief as Cloud blinked on his own. He wasn't sure what he would do, if he went that unresponsive again. Wasn't sure what he'd do about a lot of things, now. He'd already had to use the T-90**, **and even if he'd had a second dose, he wouldn't dare use it so close to the last. Kidney failure? Liver? Zack couldn't remember, and this should have been automatic, knowledge burned into his brain – but Zack wasn't sure he could even find his brain anymore, no matter what the emergency.

"... failure."

"What?" Cloud's word was close enough to his thoughts that for a moment he couldn't think at all. Cloud blinked, looked at him, and for a moment his eyes were all Zack could see, in so much anguish and terribly sane, smiling a little as he reached down, tossing pebble after pebble into the fire.

"Failure. Failed experiment. Useless SOLIDER copy. Failed Sephiroth. Failed the test. Failed the preliminaries. Failed failing – there's no point to any of it, now..."

He didn't want to do this now, didn't want to face his own part in all of it - but Zack knew that Cloud had no idea, wouldn't understand – and really, he was broken already. What did Zack need, before he stopped pretending that he was holding back, avoiding the truth for Cloud's sake? He reached out, and Cloud folded in his arms. Always, except for the worst of it, when he'd been lost in his own pain, any time there was a hint of Cloud in there, he'd deigned to Zack, trusted Zack. Took any measure of kindness or acceptance or acknowledgement from the SOLDIER as if it were an unimaginable gift.

._.. and you patted yourself on the back, and thought you were helping. You get those little shits off his back for a while, and suddenly you're the greatest hero who ever lived?_

"Why am I still alive, Zack? Why... why does it have to...?"

Just sobbing now, and sometimes it felt like his entire life was nothing but the smell of leaves and Cloud's heat and weight in his arms, the mushy, wet feel of tears on his skin and helpless misery. Zack held him tight, well aware this was his sanity, right here in his arms, and hoping Cloud wouldn't hate him for it.

"I never told you, did I – that I didn't want you to get in. I didn't want you in the program, kid, not for anything. It wasn't – I don't mean - I never would have stopped them, if you had. I just..."

No reaction. Either Cloud had already guessed or was too tired to listen or – most likely – Zack was having this confession well past the point when it would have mattered. He might dread retaliation, might dread Cloud getting angry and running off or Cloud looking up at him with sudden rage and the SOLDIER's strength to finish off what he'd started in that field by the barn – but a part of him wanted it, wanted some punishment for his apathy, and knew even now he wasn't going to get it.

"It was all bullshit. You know that, don't you, Spike?" He shouldn't have done this now, not when he couldn't stop himself, couldn't hold the wrong words back. Zack knew he needed to be careful, even if it seemed that there was no reason for it. "No, 'cause I never told you, did I? I didn't want to break your dream – thought it would be better, if you had it slip away on your own. I don't know why."

It was playing out - the end of SOLDIER, ShinRa's new plan for the world - just as he'd met Cloud, as he'd saved him from that fall, and learned his name. No one had seen it coming, not even Sephiroth – and that had worried Zack as much as anything ever could. Rufus ShinRa was angry too, and though that was usually an event to cheer, it didn't make things any better this time.

The President was trying to amp up the SOLDIER program. Always had been, though the mako-enhancement technique was so fragile, so brutal that even in its 'perfected' form it was more a meat grinder than a process. He wanted more SOLIDERS, even though Wutai had fallen and there were no more wars to fight. The President had his own goals, and even though they seemed more and more insane by the day, there was no challenging them.

Cloud honestly might have made a good SOLDIER, back when they'd still needed them for fighting, for speed and stealth, and his unassuming size could have easily worked to his advantage. But the President wasn't choosing SOLDIERS for speed or stealth or even intelligence – though Sephiroth had a few choice words about that, even during the war. He'd been their figurehead, their perfect SOLDIER, brilliant and inhumanly powerful – but they only needed one of him, and he argued too much as it was.

"Fucking Turks!" He had pulled his punch at the last moment, to keep from putting his hand through Sephiroth's desk. "They're going to fucking make us into fucking son-of-a-bitch Turks!"

Zack remembered that moment, one of the memos being tossed back and forth between the President and the favored few, something he wasn't supposed to see that Rufus ShinRa had intercepted, and made sure they both had seen. Sephiroth hadn't chastised him for his choice of words then, glaring at the paper in a way that could put fear in even inanimate objects.

The future of SOLIDER – as President ShinRa's ruthless, obedient private army, and the stupidest thing was that they hadn't seen it coming. Maybe Sephiroth had, maybe he'd noticed – and the rest of them should have - when ShinRa hadn't cut production of SOLDIERS to nothing at the end of the war.

"Shit, Cloud – you really think SOLIDERS were the elite? The best of the best? Maybe at first – but what the fuck kind of idiot would take an entire army of the smartest and bravest men he could find, and then make them too strong to control?"

Hell, the Turks had been too skilled, too talented a unit for the President's taste. It was the first time Rufus had openly challenged his father, when the question of their continued existence had been raised, just to keep what he had.

Of course, no one had mentioned any of it to the cadets. No one was about to change that myth, that legend, when it all worked in the company's favor. All ShinRa had to do was put up recruitment posters, the great General himself on every corner, and watch them line up to join. Boys from the city and the country and every backwater town in between – they came and they trained and they died by the thousands, all trying for a prize they didn't even know they didn't want.

It wasn't until the very, very end – well after most of them thought there was any possibility of giving up, that a small man in a small room sat them down, and explained what they'd already mostly understood, that anything that could be said about SOLIDERS with a smile was a total lie.

Property of the company, for life. The Mako Crush. Lifespans that would either be dramatically short or, perhaps, longer than anyone could bear and still stay sane – ShinRa didn't know. It was amazing just how much ShinRa didn't know, but by that stage there wasn't much to do with that information.

Zack buried his hair in the blonde spikes – at least Cloud's scent hadn't changed, still sweet and human and not lost with the rest of him.

"I should have told you, kid. I should have tried to make you understand. I thought if I told you, you'd think I was just trying to be nice, because you thought I knew you couldn't make the cut."

As if there had even been that much consideration in it. He could say it now, with five years of hell between them. Pretend, if he wanted to, that they had been close and they had been friends and that promise he'd made, watching Cloud walk away had been for real.

He'd had his own life, and though it was true and real then it seemed so stupid an excuse now. He hadn't been Cloud's mentor or even his friend, apart from a friendly wave in the hall now and then, congratulating himself when the kid seemed stunned by the attention. He'd been showboating, playing exactly the star ShinRa would have wanted. Pretending the most minimal of interest on his part would be enough to change things. Pretending he hadn't seen what he damn well knew he had seen in Cloud. Desperation and despair and far too much hanging on a dream that had to break. No one would have expected him to help the kid, no one would have blamed him for doing nothing, but that was by far the worst defense of all.

"All ShinRa wanted was a goon squad, glowing-eyed monsters that could scare the people, do as they were told, and not die no matter how much Mako was pumped into them. Shit, Spike, Hojo started playing with the dosages after the war, tinkering – you don't want to know how many actually survived the cut, the year you applied."

Of course, all that change, all that sampling was probably the prelude to whatever Hojo had finally done to Cloud, down in Nibelheim. It was a terrible, monstrous sort of irony, with all the struggle and suffering and loss, failing the SOLDIER preliminaries, that Cloud had survived so much more than the actual process, so much more than any man could be expected to take.

Zack should have seen Nibelheim coming. He should have, even if there had been no way to know. The President's increasingly erratic behavior. Hojo's sudden departure from the stage, no longer in meetings, all his actions secreted away. The rumors of casualties rising from the SOLDIER process, well beyond even the regular astonishing rates. It had been strange, unexpected, to send someone as strong as the General to Nibelheim, to such a remote northern reactor. He'd taken it as a vacation, taking advantage of ShinRa's shitty delegation when they could.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

_You would have seen this coming? If Sephiroth didn't?_

Of course, his friend hadn't always been the most perceptive, especially on issues that hit too close to home, and Seph was a marvel at overestimating his ability to deal with anything and everything, wouldn't let Zack take the hit even if it meant taking two – or more – himself, as much for pride as any sense of friendship.

_Bastard. How could you do it? You fucking bastard._ He wouldn't look past the anger. Didn't want to face the grief beyond it, when nothing would come of grieving.

He should have known, should have been paying attention, should have seen _something_ coming – it had been fucking clear for years, that Hojo hated him, as much as he ever bothered to notice anyone. Zack had been lazy and compliant and self-assured – hell, it had worked for him that well so far, but the only other possibility was that, even if he'd seen it coming, even if he'd suspected – there was no way to suspect what had finally happened in Nibelheim. He didn't understand it, even now, and there was nothing he could have done to save either of them.

"I tried to make it better, didn't I? Once I got my head out of my ass. I didn't give up – I won't give up."

Who the hell did he think he was talking to? Impossible to tell, from his position, if Cloud was even responsive. No longer crying, at least, just clinging to him, breathing fast and shallow. Zack soothed that anxiety as best he could, the fingers digging into his shirt slowly relaxing, no longer so certain he would disappear.

"I'm still here now. I won't leave, not this time."

* * *

In the back of his mind, Zack had kept note of the date, the final postings, for the SOLDIER candidates. Cloud had no chance of passing, he'd known that, but he'd checked the list anyway, shook hands with a few of the ones who had passed, who still had no idea what they were getting into. It was exactly what he'd hoped would happen, and almost certainly what would have happened, whatever he'd wanted. Zack still felt as if he'd failed, in some profound and obvious way.

He tried to ignore the growing sense of guilt, the feeling that he'd done something terribly wrong, and Zack walked to the back barracks, arguing with himself all the way. What was he supposed to do? Tell the kid there weren't any wars, that the glory days of SOLDIER were gone, that he'd been born too late? It was clear, even from the little he knew, the kid's whole life was this challenge, this insurmountable obstacle – what was Zack supposed to do, crush the only thing that had made all his suffering worth the enduring?

Zack had already planned out a solution, the same thing that worked so well, for the majority of life's disappointments. Get the kid, get him drunk. Actually say something encouraging, now that the worst had happened – there had to be something else Cloud wanted, some other path worth taking. Midgar was massive, and certainly in the last year there had been something else he'd seen, some future opening up he hadn't even imagined back in his tiny hometown.

Cloud was gone. Everything left in his bunk – which was barely anything – and no sign of the kid himself. No one had seen him – most of the other troopers barely seemed to know who he was talking about.

Even then, even with that it took him two days to start looking, when it was obvious Cloud hadn't ever returned to his room. Official leave for everyone, of course, after the exams. Scheduled to correspond with a city-wide holiday - but Zack couldn't lie to himself anymore, that the kid had gone off for a beach vacation, that he'd stumbled over a happy ending. By the third day he was trying to figure out just who to tell – he had to tell somebody. He hadn't said anything and hadn't done anything, and now there was a dead cadet out there somewhere, in any one of a thousand dark places in Midgar, just waiting to be found.

Zack could close his eyes, and see the fall, imagine the empty look in the blue eyes, maybe not even the slightest resistance, as Cloud finally surrendered to what he must have always thought was inevitable.

He didn't know what to do, and found himself returning, again and again, to Cloud's quarters, until he was sure half the hall thought the kid had committed some terrible crime. A place he'd never bothered to stop by, when the kid had still been there, when it might have done some good – he was sure the bullying had subsided, though. Had kept an ear open, for any news – but still, he shouldn't have stayed away.

No hints – nothing in Cloud's possession, really, besides a few spare gil, a highlighter – and a small, folded piece of paper that was so firmly wadded it took him a few moments to tease it open. A recruitment poster – Sephiroth, who else – but this was one of the older ones, battered and torn and opened so many times the folds had been worn smooth, ripped in a few ripped and carefully mended. As if anyone needed to carry one of these, to treat it so well when they were everywhere, a new batch on the walls each time he turned around. A good luck charm, maybe? Abandoned, now that there was no need for luck.

It was nothing but chance, coincidence that Zack found Cloud when he did – but he wasn't going to call it luck. Not just circumstance, as he was walking back from the barracks, down the hall past the showers and the changing rooms and the few open spaces that only existed because the ShinRa were as inept at design as they were at everything else. He was angry, hating ShinRa and himself in equal measure, and the air seemed dark and solid despite the sun – so when Zack heard the cry, it took a moment to realize what it was, not just the shifting and creaking of his own frozen universe.

He was moving before he was quite sure why – distress, what he'd heard was certainly a sound of panic, and a few other sounds that long experience identified as blows landing, feet shuffling to accommodate a body hitting the ground, and quietly hissed taunts, threats. A sharp, taunting laugh broke the silence, though the voice was low and careful.

"... can't believe you ever came back, you little shit. Man, I can't wait until I'm in SOLDIER – you just think about what I'll do to you then."

One of those little areas between buildings, tucked out of the way of most passerby – he probably wouldn't have heard anything, if he hadn't been walking so slowly, empty enough to take notice of anything nearby. Zack frowned, somewhat surprised at the anger that had flared up, listening to what was obviously a one-sided fight – he hadn't done anything the last time, but at least this time –

He turned the corner, and froze, as did the rest of the group spread out in front of him, except for the boy crouched against the wall, panting and trying to crawl away, too hurt to actually move anywhere. He had his face turned to the ground, but Zack would have known that stubborn, spiky blonde hair anywhere.

One of the boys looked up, eyes wide and startled, almost comical, masklike – but Zack recognized him anyway. One of the cadets at the board, accepted in the program, and he'd shaken the boy's hand and they all exchanged smiles - wasn't it so amazingly fucking great, to be another loyal piece of the great ShinRa machine.

Zack was as close as he'd been to losing control since they'd filled him with Mako, since he could kill with a single punch without trying very hard. The closest he would come until that day, just half a year later, when he'd push himself to the limit, trying to take down what wore the form of his friend, the man who had always held the fear of that day in the back of his eyes. Sephiroth, who hadn't told Zack to kill him, if it came down to fire and nightmares and a town full of corpses – hadn't told Zack to stop him at any cost, because even with everything at stake, he knew Zack wouldn't be good enough to do it.

It must have been such a relief, to finally be free of that fear, for Seph to stop worrying about what a monster he could be by letting himself become it.

It took no time at all for Zack to beat them down, the whole world still strangely frozen, sunlight blasting down, erasing all the shadows, anything that could hide. Anything he tried not to see, Cloud cowering in the dust – broken, already broken, already knowing how little he was worth and it hadn't been enough for them. The cadets didn't move from where he'd flung them away, the leader holding a hand against his jaw – not broken, but damn close – blood sliding from between his fingers.

"Get the fuck out. You're dismissed, out of ShinRa. Pack up your shit and go."

No movement. Astonishment made them all seem so young, round-eyed children.

"You... you can't do that. I made the cut."

"You? You made fuck all. I have ten guys who look just like you." Zack gestured to the others, still staring at him in shock and more than a little fear. He had the right to do this, and no one would care. "Whichever one of you beats the shit out of him can have his place. Come see me in the morning."

Zack strode out in the silence that followed, Cloud tucked under an arm – didn't listen, to hear if the fight started up behind him, didn't care. The kid didn't move, unconscious or dazed, as light as a memory, an empty cage.

* * *

A mistake, but he'd fixed it – up until the end, he'd done his best to make things right. Zack had never been afraid of mistakes, of plowing into any situation without hesitation, and patching things up afterward. It was disturbing, to think that he'd mellowed somehow, that the ShinRa bullshit was starting to pile too high for even him to stay above it.

Still, he'd been given a reprieve, the spiky-haired kid was his chance to prove who he was, and once Cloud had gotten over the worst of his nervousness, Zack had to admit it was an embarrassingly easy task. He'd pulled the kid into a squad with a much better CO, and made damn sure everyone knew they were friends. The first time he'd ambled up after Cloud's shift, to offer a trip into town, he thought the kid would fall over in shock. The smallest kindness was enough to confuse him, and he was so careful not to let Zack know it.

Easy to keep an eye on him, to give him a spare key to his quarters and a reminder, boxers on the door meant come back later. The rest of the time it was a place Cloud could go, just in case. Zack tried to get him to open up, to smile – not hard, Spike, just think about a girl you like in a wet t-shirt – and hoped that he was just a little shy, naturally. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with Cloud, and he tried to make sure the kid knew it, realized he wasn't inviting him along to the bars or on jaunts out of town or anywhere else because he _had_ to, but because they were friends.

"Friends, kid. You know what those are, right?"

"Of course, Zack."

The kid had scowled at him, and laughed, but it was a thin laugh, hiding the truth. Still hiding, and still quietly working on entry into SOLIDER – Cloud could still try, he could keep trying until it killed him – and then the kid learned that he knew Sephiroth, was actually_ friends_ with the General, and Zack realized that the good-luck charm hadn't just been a random poster, and Cloud's disappearances nearly always corresponded to Sephiroth returning to Midgar, being publicly visible, easily seen from hidden corners.

He never knew if Cloud took the key he'd left out, mentioning offhand that it could open up the training rooms where the SOLDIERS went, and the upper balconies, where instructors or other SOLDIERS could watch them train. Never knew if Cloud took it – never knew if he'd sat up in the darkness of an alcove, pressed against the glass. Sephiroth liked to practice late, to let go of the day in silence, when no one would bother him.

The two of them alone, then, in the night, and even now Zack couldn't deny the reality of what his friend had been, how much had been lost. In peace, away from all the propaganda, all the madness of ShinRa trying to pull his strings, Sephiroth was so magnificent it hurt to watch. Zack hoped Cloud had watched anyway, if even for a moment. Hoped that somewhere, even now, he had that memory to hold on to.

In retrospect, there was no way it all couldn't have gone worse, though Zack didn't regret that silence in the same way as he had the rest of it. God, did he regret Nibelheim, even if he hadn't known, couldn't have known – should have known – and it had seemed like such a perfect idea at the time.

Sephiroth was hideous with people, they both knew it, and Cloud was so, so fragile. He would have broken the kid without blinking, without ever understanding he'd done anything wrong – and that was even weighing in Cloud's tenacity, that stubbornness bordering on self-destruction. The depth of a love that Zack really hadn't understood. Hadn't understood it in Midgar, when he knew it had to be hero worship, the same star-struck awe that made everyone love Sephiroth at first – and hadn't understood it down in the hell beneath Nibelheim, when he'd spoken of his friend and still half-expected to see him. Praying in some small corner of his heart for Sephiroth to appear and banish the nightmare, to tell Zack he'd just hit the Crush harder and worse than anyone ever had before.

He got it now – head like a rock, but eventually it came through – when Cloud lay against him, panting for breath, trembling against the pain. Mental or physical, and he was out of anything that could help. The blue bag was gone, used up so damn fast, and they were in the middle of nowhere. So Zack licked his lips and whispered softly, urgently, holding on to the kid and telling stories.

The same stories, the good stories, and Sephiroth's name was not so hard to say, not here, to keep him alive for Cloud.

* * *

Zack risked the truck when they hit the edge of the woods, a wide-open plain between them and the next patch of anything they could use for cover. Getting closer, and he could only hope they would think he'd stay away, that he'd never be stupid enough to come right at them, straight up the middle. If they looked at any of his records from the Wutai war – and Zack grinned, ShinRa hadn't noticed the war when they were _fighting_ it.

The old man had been slightly suspicious, but Zack could see he pitied Cloud, nothing much dangerous about a pale, sickly kid who couldn't even hold his own head up. He'd taken story of mako poisoning with nothing but a knowing nod – which told Zack everything he needed to know, in case what he'd read hadn't been enough to convince him that Nibelheim hadn't done a damn thing to change ShinRa's goals.

"What're you gonna do when we get to Midgar?"

Rambling again, but it was a nice, warm day and the sun felt good on his face, the only thing missing was a good beer – and a friend who would answer back, of course. Go to Aeris, once they reached Midgar? No – he didn't dare. If they hadn't found out about her already – it had been five years. He wondered what she thought of him, if she'd known he never came back, if she ever looked for him.

_You won't be in Midgar long enough for it to matter, however this plays out._

"Hey, Cloud, think there's anything I'd be good at?"

Hard to hear over the engine, not that he expected an answer. Zack grinned, feeling suddenly giddy. It was the speed, bumping across the vast expanse of nothing, with just as little behind him as in front. He hoped Cloud would forgive him. He rapped on the window.

"Hey old guy! What do you think I'd be good at?"

The driver grumbled a response, but Zack barely listened. They'd need to get a boat over, and the only boats that took the whole trip in one shot were ShinRa, of course. Cargo boats, which meant they could stay in the hold – he'd have to drug Cloud, to make sure he didn't go crazy halfway across the water, and that meant at least one more stop at an outpost big enough to stock SOLDIER supplies.

He was going to get them both killed, before they even got across the sea.

"I'm gonna become a mercenary!"

Zack laughed at the thought, wiped at his eyes, still oddly unused to the sunlight, though it hadn't been dark underground. Painfully bright, buried beneath what he'd thought was a dead city – it still was a dead city, even if they'd lit it up and made it dance. The same way they'd made Cloud –

Zack shut his eyes, kept talking, just to hear the sound. Remind himself he was here, out in the world. He really was crazy.

"I'm gonna be rich."

He was going to feed Rufus to Dark Nation. Or feed the bastard his own damn dog. Whole. He was going to beat Tseng to death with his own femurs.

"So, Cloud? What are you gonna do?"

No answer. Maybe it was getting worse. Hard to tell, anymore.

_At least he doesn't get motion sick now_.

Zack bit his lip, hard, and shifted over, forced himself to look into the burning, blue gaze, knew he was fooling himself, to think that there would be a change. It hadn't faded at all, still too bright, and even if he couldn't see it, Cloud was in there somewhere. In there, along with pieces of Zack, pieces of Sephiroth, Hojo, the Planet, angels, demons, maybe even a still-burning Nibelheim.

Zack had been the one to find his mother. Did Cloud have that memory as well?

_The time we had barbeque on the beach, and Cloud swore I'd lose my eyebrows trying to start the fire with gasoline. The girls we played volleyball with. The cookies he made for the winter holiday – why the hell didn't I know he could cook?_

A silent night with Sephiroth, the only man who could transcend ShinRa's arrogance, turn it into perfection, and beauty, with Cloud his only audience. Please, please let him remember.

"Just kidding... I won't leave you hanging like that."

Zack slid over, until his temple rested against Cloud's, and he could feel the kid go still and quiet.

_I'm sorry I couldn't save you._

"We're friends, right?"

_I'm sorry I don't think I can save you now._

"Mercenaries, Cloud. That's what you an' me are gonna be."

The wind whistled past, Zack watched it stir up cyclones of dust across a hazy horizon. The engine rumbled, comfortingly, and the forest had passed, nothing ahead of them yet, but Zack knew it would come before he was ready. He shut his eyes, tired enough that even the trembling metal wasn't enough to dissuade him.

"You tinka da'an? I rek, we be Uncle Boneyed some bad business."

Zack looked over, not sure what he'd see, not sure what he did see, Cloud's voice and his words, blazing eyes he could not read, the small smile that might have been agreement or confusion or fear or simple insanity.

He sighed, and smiled back despite what he knew, looking up into the blue sky, still nothing like the way Cloud's eyes had been. He would see them again, see Cloud look at him and see him, with nothing else in the way. Give Cloud back to himself. Somehow, he would make it happen.

"Ah ken a man name Unca' Boney, wahk all day with a hammer an he plink... an a plink plink plink..."

Cloud's voice, soft but audible, singing nonsense in harmony, in his voice, while the truck rumbled comfortingly, carrying them beneath a sky they would never see again.

"... an a plink plink an a plink was Uncle Boney."

* * *

Author's Notes –

Choba was entirely created by Lunar, who is awesome and mighty and uses it much better than I ever could.


	10. Chapter 10

Rufus still had a little nerve damage in his right hand, but given that or incineration, he never complained. The only time he really noticed it was when he'd attempted some delicate task, tying a tie, or after hours of signing his name to the endless pile of requests and orders that kept his city running, kept Midgar off the edge for one more day.

Most of the time, he barely paid attention to what he was signing, moving papers from one side of his desk to the other. It might be time, really, to think of delegating more of this to the Mayor. Reeve wouldn't mind the extra paperwork, this sort of dull minutiae was still important, still concerned the well-being of the people, and the former head of urban... whatever it was would recognize that better than anyone.

Had they ever bothered to officially make Reeve the mayor? Rufus honestly couldn't remember. Emergency status was one thing, but on the off chance the inoffensive man ever managed to rub someone the wrong way, it might be important. He made a note to put something down on paper, backdate the order six months or so – or get the man some new stationary, at the very least.

At first, digging themselves out of the rubble, re-establishing control of Midgar with the largest banner they could find and as many guns as they could gather, Rufus had demanded to know everything. He'd worked twenty-hour days, went without sleep for well past the first year, just take care of the start of the reconstruction. Only when they were sure the entire city wasn't about to collapse in on itself did he finally have the chance to even begin to study his father's records, to see just far his madness had spread.

After that, it seemed he couldn't much argue with the Planet's attempt to shake Midgar to the foundations to save it. The megalomania and corruption had gone further then he could have imagined, every level of the company, every decision from well before the Wutai war... everything. Of course, Rufus had been faking omnipotence well before the Meteor struck, had long been trying to convince himself that he'd find the clue, the document that explained it all in clear, certain terms. He needed it to be there, his father's reasoning, especially after the Crisis, to make sense of so much destruction. Provide a real, sane explanation - not just that Hojo had done his batshit crazy best to run the whole world off the rails while his father had been tossing anything he could into the furnace, helping him along.

Midgar had been in bad shape even before the Meteor – entire sectors his father had simply ignored for years, ignoring it in pursuit of Armageddon. All the basic infrastructure, the foundations, the plate supports, the fucking _plumbing_ - all rusting away while he'd pumped everything into the SOLDIER program, into the Nibelheim project. Hell bent on the Promised Land – and Rufus knew it was bad, even before Sephiroth had returned, he knew things weren't normal, but this...

Madness. Pure madness. The bastard had faked it well enough in public, but in the last three weeks of his life, nothing in his father's private documents had made any sense at all.

Eventually, Rufus had just stopped looking. Locked it all away, for some future moment when it could be researched more closely – and even then, he wasn't sure it would be worth trying. Whatever power Hojo and his father and Sephiroth had been reaching for had destroyed them all, in the end. Jenova – whatever the hell it really was – had used them all to its own ends and then cast aside the broken pieces. Only Aeris had managed to do any good at all, only she had understood what was really going on. The last Ancient, and she'd paid for that privilege with her life, to save them – and it still wasn't over.

Cloud Strife was still out there, and he wouldn't – perhaps couldn't – let it end.

_You've still got Valentine._

The best – perhaps only - weapon he did have, although he knew it would probably have to get very ugly before Vincent would be convinced to act. The man had certainly changed, as much as any of them, from what he'd seen in the darkness of Nibelheim. Rufus didn't trust him, of course, but there was little choice in the matter.

_People will die. Whatever Strife is planning, they'll die. Thousands? More?_

People were already dying, from the Wutai rebellion, from the attacks on the Mako reactors – but it wasn't anything compared to what was coming. What Cloud had promised, staring up at him in silence from that blood-soaked room, knowing he was watching. No Meteor in the sky, but Rufus could feel it just the same, inevitable and deadly, hanging over his head. Ironically, it was half the reason he could relax here, knew he would have a warning, before the end. Cloud had no intention of letting it be a surprise.

Revenge? What else could it be? Cloud was hell bent on slaughter, that much was obvious from the tape, from the brutal annihilation in each of the Mako reactors he'd destroyed, soldiers ripped apart with dedicated sadism. The way he'd taken sides with Wutai, if even only marginally, to destabilize that entire side of the world. It was all about chaos, about destruction without purpose or focus. Taking down Mako reactors, for what they represented, with no interest in how many people relied on them for power, how necessary they were, with so much to be rebuilt. Cloud had chosen ShinRa as his target, and since ShinRa was a global enterprise...

Rufus would call him insane, because it would help his position; because there was no way to admit that Cloud arguably deserved his revenge, that ShinRa had created this monster even more carefully, more determinedly than they'd build Sephiroth.

_Do you even know what you're doing, Strife? Did Hojo leave any of you in there when he was done? Did Sephiroth?_

The only merciful thing he could do was take Cloud down, though he knew the last easy part was making the decision. Cloud was a SOLDIER, the last SOLDIER. More than that, even - and people were going to die before it was over. The people he was supposed to keep alive. Citizens, breathing and paying taxes and walking around with all their limbs, content enough to bitch at him for not being happier. Whatever speeches he gave, the necessary grandstanding, it was pretty damn difficult to be president of a giant fucking crater.

_So careful. You will have to be so damn careful this time._

It hadn't been his win, the last time. Watching the Meteor come down along with the rest of the world – if it had been up to him, they would have lost. Even now, with Cloud gone and most of AVALANCHE unwilling to go into detail, Rufus wasn't even sure how they'd won.

He rubbed his face with his right hand, forcing his palm flat, staring at the slight scars, barely visible but still there. So fucking fragile, no matter how much he wanted otherwise. Hard to really believe in his own power, anymore, after staring down a WEAPON. How would he win? The answer was there – he just had to find it.

Long ago, the doors in ShinRa had been as professionally polished and perfect as the rest of the building. Swinging silently, an exact match for the rows of blank-faced, blue suited bureaucrats who moved in and out of it without leaving a mark. Of course, the Meteor had taken care of that, the rebuilding more a matter of pragmatism than total polish in most places – though many of the doors also bore marks of Reno's passing – the Turk a one-man demolition crew. It was amazing, really, that his clothes didn't melt clean off of him.

Rufus wasn't at all startled, then, by the sound of the door ricocheting off the wall. He knew who it was, listening to the brisk, heavy tread of feet across the floor. Heidegger had stomped like that, and Rufus had once thought, with the man dead, he'd never have to hear it again.

"Hello General. Always a pleasure."

It wasn't, though at least they both hated each other openly, and he didn't have to try and fake it. Cloud Strife should have been the standard, for how he'd been received on returning to Midgar. Rufus had expected an ugly fight, to regain control of ShinRa, let alone to try to take back Midgar. He hadn't been certain he would win, even as the Turks had appeared, one by one, from the rubble.

It had been difficult to believe, then, when even Vincent Valentine had pledged even the sketchiest loyalty to ShinRa, claiming that even Rufus' rule was better than anarchy. Impossible to completely trust the man, even if he was sane, but Rufus had employed the ex-Turk anyway. Had no choice, the perfect tool to bludgeon the more openly violent threats to the company into silence.

More difficult, really, to deal with the those detractors he couldn't simply shoot. The company's employees, the higher-ups who'd managed to run and hide and survive, coming back to pick at the carcass.

Reeve had been a surprising ally there, competent and capable, somehow coming to the same conclusion that Vincent had: Rufus was an asshole, but a familiar one, and more rational than his father had been, at any rate. With the Turks and Vincent handling the worst offenders, and Reeve smoothing over the situation between the departments below him, things in the company were only disturbingly fragile, as opposed to imploding around him without warning.

"I hear you've been having a few problems with the trains in Sector Four?"

Jormun towered over the edge of his desk, well aware of the intimidating ability of his massive bulk, as Heidigger had been. Rufus wondered if they were related – or if Heidigger had learned how to just divide himself, somewhere along the way. He tried not to shudder at the thought. So many of the useless bastards that belonged to his father had not made it through the destruction of the city – it was asking rather too much, to be rid of them all. Still, there were others he would have preferred to General Jormun. The man was unpleasant, powerful, with a long career in the military and no few allies. He was also smart enough to realize all that he had at his command, and what he stood to gain, with certain obstacles removed. As the President's arrogant, upstart son, Rufus knew he was at the top of the list.

"Nothing that won't be solved within the end of the week. We're short on materials, and repairmen, as usual. It was done as an emergency measure the last time. I'm frankly amazed it's lasted as long as it has."

"Well, that's where I've always thought we've had our disagreements." Jormun said, with a violently unpleasant smile, folding his meaty hands together – Rufus was rather surprised he could manage it, wondered if he would be able to pull them apart again. "You've never had a problem with doing the least that was required."

Damn. Jormun knew something. Was holding back, and he was going to force Rufus to sit here and wait for it, maybe even ask for it. It wasn't the first time Rufus sorely missed Dark Nation, and he reminded himself that he needed to put more guns in the office, just for the ambiance. Maybe a trap door.

Jormun cracked his knuckles, slowly. Too smart for such thuggish behavior, and smart enough to enjoy it anyway. He could have been a SOLDIER, but had opted for a career path instead. Opted to survive, one of only a few left of his rank

"I can assume your worthless subordinates haven't informed you of what's happened with the Highwind?"

Given that nine out of ten calls from Reno's PHS came from hookers, police, or whatever random passerby had managed to pick it up at the time, Rufus hadn't been expecting much. Having at least one of the others around tended to raise the chances that he'd find out what was going on, but Rufus hadn't sent anyone in that direction anyway. He'd assumed Cloud would go to Tifa first – and so it seemed he was as good at assumptions as his father had been. Reno and Roman were set to arrive back any time now, learning nothing from Miss Lockheart save that she knew even less than they did – and that Cloud hadn't killed her yet.

"The little experiment you can't seem to track down attacked the ship last night. Cloud Strife was able to get aboard, and do a great deal of damage to the engines, along with other critical elements. He also attacked the captain. The Highwind will be incapable of assisting in maneuvers in Wutai for the foreseeable future."

"Maneuvers in Wutai?"

Only so much time in a day, even when sleep was considered a luxury, and the Mako reactors had, unsurprisingly, been his main concern at the moment. The current 'maneuvers' in Wutai, he knew, involved mostly staring at it from across the water, rattling sabers now and again but generally giving up most of the island for lost. Rufus had been aware it was a less than popular position among some of his father's closest allies. Men who had come to occupy a position in ShinRa's tower because he hadn't had the power to deal with all of them, nor the foresight to have them shot before the dust had settled.

"We're taking the island back. Troops are on their way right now, we are lining the coast, and we will make an assault on the main island as soon as they arrive."

"You do know how long it took my father to seize Wutai, to gain an unconditional surrender from their leader? Three-hundred SOLDIERS, spread out across the whole of our forces, to achieve victory – SOLDIERS who were all dead by the time the Meteor appeared in the sky. General Sephiroth himself brought us that victory. Single-handedly, from what I've read in the reports. Most of the men who held your rank at the time of the surrender said it never would have happened otherwise."

"You certainly do know about war, for a man who's never fought in one."

"Just because it isn't called a war, doesn't mean it won't get bloody." Hell, the Turks had done enough guerilla maneuvers to be considered their own army within the city. Probably half the reason for this meeting.

It wasn't a negotiation with Jormun, not even a discussion, most of the time. The General hated Rufus with a passion, convinced that if _he'd_ been in control after his father's death, the Meteor never would have struck Midgar even a glancing blow. Sheer, unmitigated idiocy, but the truth was so incomprehensible, such madness that anyone who did not see it in whole, did not sit down with the Nibelheim reports and the SOLDIER files and what remained of Hojo's files and Sephiroth's dossiers... and Rufus was one of the very few with that level clearance, had no intention of ever letting it out for public consumption.

So Jormun had made up his own series of events, what had happened to put Rufus ShinRa where he was, and though the general had never confronted him directly on the facts, there had been a sneer in every comment, distrust and suspicion and skepticism. It was amazing, how many people had shifted to his side, even those who had been closest when the Meteor came down. Accepting his version of events, because it seemed more sane, made the world less frightening, and so the blind of secrecy at ShinRa had become a weapon against the company. Leaving Rufus with few allies, every decision made in secret causing that much more of a rift. Jormun had the military behind him, medals and history and the respect that went with them. Compared to that, Rufus barely existed.

"Cloud Strife will be there, in Wutai. If indeed, he was the one to take down the Highwind, then he knows what you're up to." God, it was no easy journey, from Junon to where the Highwind had – Rufus stopped himself, no time to marvel at how quickly and easily Cloud could destroy his life. "I'm certainly happy to have his attention diverted, but you won't want him as your enemy. You don't want to meet him on a battlefield. He'll cut your whole damn army out from underneath you."

"Superstitious bullshit. He may be a SOLDIER, which may make him more difficult to kill, but he is only one man – and I find a great deal to be suspicious of, concerning the entire business of the SOLDIER program, the 'Lifestream,' or whatever nonsense you want to call it."

"Are we forgetting which of us the Planet shot in the face?"

Rufus really wasn't sure which was worse, in the end, the pure and focused insanity of Hojo, or this level of staggering, incompetent stupidity. A refusal to believe the facts, entirely because they were inconvenient. Jormun was using the willful ignorance of the people to his own advantage – but Rufus wondered if he'd started believing his own lies.

"We both know you went to Nibelheim, Jormun. We both know you saw what Strife was capable of. What Hojo promised you, and my father."

"The perfect SOLDIER. A stronger, faster, more obedient breed of fighter, even better than the great General Sephiroth himself. Except Hojo was a lunatic, and a fool, and his belief in such 'science' was ultimately his undoing. I was, and remain a realist – an incredible feat, considering this company's delusions. Cloud Strife is one man, not invincible or immortal, not even bulletproof, and your pathetic performance in handling him is a sign of your own incompetence, not Strife's ability. I believed in your father, I trusted his judgment – and I agreed with him completely, when he realized he had whelped a sniveling weasel of a son."

"You son of a bitch." Rufus knew better, than to give the bastard the satisfaction of his anger, but that didn't mean he could hide it. "I'll kill you myself before I ever give you this company."

He had no idea Jormun could move so fast. The Turks had protected him for too long, Rufus reflected, feeling the General's fingers fist in his shirt, dragging him with one hand out of his chair. Two years of knowing what had changed, of living it, and he still kept forgetting this wasn't the same company. It wasn't the same web of secrets and lies and bullshit keeping them all relatively civil, with all assassinations politely behind the scenes. No one was safe in this new world, not even him.

"Let me go." Rufus growled, the impact lost somewhat by the fingers on his weak hand scrabbling over Jormun's fist, as hard and unyielding as stone.

"You think there is _anything_ that keeps me from killing you, little prince?" The old nickname, sneered out around a snarl – Jormun looked like a feral dog this close, his piggy eyes flaring the same way Heidigger's used to, when Rufus managed to block his funding. "What? You think I'm too afraid to dirty my hands? You think I'm afraid of that pack of mongrels you have at your heels? Valentine will save you? Whatever it is that Hojo left of him? You think any of them pose the smallest threat to me?"

"Let... go... of me." Rufus wasn't quite choking, but it was a bad position, and Jormun only dragged him closer, his back protesting the painful forced arch.

"I didn't come here to ask your permission, _boy_. I came to tell you what was going to happen – and once I've taken Wutai back from those useless savages, once I've taken care of Cloud Strife, you won't have anyone left to blame for your own mistakes. No imaginary monsters to hide behind – just us, just the real ones, and if I were you I'd think about where you'll go, once that happens."

"My... city." A feral growl, but he didn't have the breath for more. "_Mine_."

Amusement in the relatively static features, and then an unexpected, subtle shift in his expression that made Rufus' gut twist. He realized then, that he was closer to the other man than he ever, ever wanted to be.

"You know, I heard when you were born, your father didn't even realize he had a boy." He said, very softly, close enough that his breath was hot and rank against Rufus' face. "I'm not so sure he made a mistake. From what I hear, you're not so sure either."

Rufus' weak hand finally curled around something with weight and heft – a desk clock, hardly the greatest weapon but it still made a decent sound, clanging off the side of Jormun's head. The man bellowed, staggering back, throwing Rufus hard into his chair, the makeshift weapon clattering across the floor. Rufus didn't move, couldn't move for a moment. Watching Jormun touch the place he'd hit, annoyed that he hadn't drawn blood. Rufus wiped at his mouth, hating the tremor he could feel there, hating the triumphant disdain in Jormun's eyes, every bit as present as the rage.

"You're a dead man, General. I swear you won't live to see the end of this."

"No, little prince." Jormun shook his head, no amusement in his smile now, nothing twisted, only simple, brutal malice. Knowing the game. Knowing the threats Rufus could barely dare to make. "You don't even have what it takes to try."

He turned, walked out through the open door, never looking back. Certain Rufus could do nothing. It was true enough – Rufus ShinRa didn't have the people's popular opinion. He wasn't the person who saved Midgar or even helped, but the one who had been there when it all went wrong in the first place. Maybe Reeve, maybe he had enough goodwill – but the esteem of all the people in Midgar was nothing compared to the army's support, and Jormun had that for certain. Had seen to it, made sure they were always paid on time, each speech he made about the glory days, and how they could be live again. Rufus would be deposed without fanfare or interest – or simply executed, as soon as Jormun was successful in retaking Wutai.

It was almost a relief, to know the dumb bastard had no chance in hell of doing it, that Cloud Strife would end up feeding him his own spinal column. Light footsteps in the hall made him look up, Rufus hating the way his heartbeat sped up, flinching at the thought of more violence. He never flinched. He was Rufus Fucking ShinRa.

_Paper prince on a paper throne. The game hasn't started and you're already losing._

"The first thing we do, is kill your father."

The way Reno had greeted him, long before Sephiroth had done the deed himself. The Turk had never bothered coming up with anything new, though it held a much fonder, more celebratory note after the fact. Reno stopped short, though Rufus doubted there was much physical evidence of Jormun's attack, his own expression frozen in what he hoped was his usual bored disdain. The tension of barely-contained violence still hung in the air, though, and Reno was a bloodhound when it came to that scent, staring at him in blank confusion, and a quickly growing anger.

"Get out." He growled to Roman, who only bowed slightly, respectfully in Rufus' direction, blank-faced, before he followed his superior's order, shutting the door silently behind him. Rufus couldn't remember how they'd found him, or quite when, but he was a good choice, oddly respectful – though most organizations would hardly think Roman was the odd one for it.

"Did that fucker threaten you?"

Rufus would have liked to see them pass each other in the hall – Jormun and the Turks had even more hostility between them, if such a thing was possible.

Rufus said nothing, calmly smoothing out the places Jormun's hands had bunched in his shirt. Reno stood where he was for a few moments more, right hand clenching in the air, around an imaginary gun or grenade or empty liquor bottle or Jormun's testicles – hard to tell for sure.

"So do you want him off the Plate, or down an elevator shaft?"

Rufus startled himself with the short bark of laughter, and it was enough to jolt Reno into moving, throwing himself down into one of the chairs Jormun had shoved aside. Still watching him closely – it was strange to see Reno actually thoughtful – Rufus was sure most people wouldn't believe it, likely not even Elena or Rude.

He finished smoothing out his shirt, placing his hands carefully on the table, though he stared blankly at the desk afterward, uncertain of what he was sure should have been an obvious next move. If he didn't think about it, the way Jormun had looked at him – his hand was trembling, and he cursed himself, even the slight feebleness that had brought him to this.

"Jormun can declare a military coup any time he likes. The army is with him – and if he dies under even slightly suspicious circumstances, his lieutenants will use it as reason to get rid of us all."

Reno stretched out, like some kind of very boneless cat that didn't clean itself very often.

"So we're going to let him do whatever the hell he wants?"

"What he _wants_ is to take back Wutai." Rufus nodded as Reno snorted, glad they'd moved past his moment of vulnerability. "It may work in our favor, in the long run. He makes a thoroughly useless charge, wastes his supporters in a futile battle – and then I have Vincent take him out behind the shed."

"We have a shed?" Reno said, though he didn't seem nearly as pleased as he usually was, by the thought of deliberate violence. "You think he can take Wutai?"

"Not a chance in hell. The entire country's allied against us – they'll all die, before buckling under to us – and that's if Strife doesn't get involved, which it seems he already has. All Jormun will do is deplete a force that's barely enough to consider this attack, and leave Midgar wide open."

It had never mattered before, how many people they sent to fight Wutai, an island that had never made any threatening moves toward ShinRa at all. Far enough away, isolated enough, it had never been more than an ideological threat, though the propaganda had taken care of that. Worked too well, if the thought of losing it now was all Jormun needed to secure support – but this was no longer a war on one front, with an army of SOLIDERS and General Sephiroth to lead them. The only one left close to his caliber wasn't on their side.

"He's not entirely wrong, though." Rufus frowned at his desk. "We're losing respect in every place that doesn't depend on us directly for support. If there were anything worth having in Cosmo Canyon, we'd have sent troops months ago."

"The shit they _did_." Reno muttered, in what wasn't quite convincing disbelief. He knew about the problems as well as anyone. Rufus did not hide much from the Turks. He sighed.

"Nothing official, but they've made it clear, they find ShinRa's interests to be... incompatible with their own."

"Fucking hippies."

Usually a day like this would end at the top of the tower with a bucket of golf balls, and they'd trade off drives, listening to the sound of pinging metal and – occasionally – breaking glass. As far as Rufus knew, they never actually killed anyone, but he doubted he'd actually hear that, people being generally softer than windows.

"Cloud attacked the Highwind last night. Completely destroyed the engines, and god knows what else. Highwind never called to give me a report. I don't know how Jormun found out."

"Fuck." Reno said, not sounding all that upset, or surprised. "Here we go."

"Lockheart didn't have anything to say?"

"I showed her the pictures." Reno shrugged. "I think she knows he's dangerous. Trying not to believe it. Says he hasn't tried to contact her, don't know if I trust that. Still, he doesn't have much reason to."

"Keep surveillance on her, just in case."

Pretend it would make any kind of difference. So far, the only time they'd been able to find Strife was when he'd wanted them to see him. Until recently, until that tape, they hadn't even been able to pin the reactor attacks on him.

"You sure Highwind's even alive?"

"Jormun would have mentioned it, if he wasn't. Maybe."

Rufus rubbed at his eyes again, feeling more tired than he should have. It piled up in strange ways, three days of feeling fine on no sleep, only to be exhausted even with a full night to recover. At least Reno didn't give a shit if he showed a few signs of stress, wouldn't think to use it against him. Loyal to him, the way all the Turks were, and though Rufus had understood it before, when he'd been the certain heir to his father's nearly unlimited power – for the ten minutes when he'd actually _had_ that power, before everything had gone to hell – it hardly made much sense now. The job was far from glamorous, or rewarding, and it was as likely to end in an ugly death as anything.

"Why aren't you gone, Reno? You don't have to be here. None of this is your problem."

"Nowhere better to go, boss. Besides, you gotta admit this is interesting."

He leaned forward, and Rufus caught him a moment too late, pulling a manila folder out from beneath a stack of papers, raising an eyebrow at the label. Rufus couldn't see it as well, not sure which of the SOLDIER documents it was – not that it mattered, or that Reno cared. The single word was damning enough.

"The fuck is this?"

Every top-level executive in ShinRa had a plan for killing Hojo. It wasn't surprising – they'd all had contingencies for each other, should the need arise. It had been quite amusing to find the one his father had made for him, how to deal with his son and the Turks all at once. Most amusing were the notes concerning Sephiroth – his father hadn't gone any further than he had, a plan that, reduced to its simplest form, consisted of throwing everything they had at the super-SOLIDER, and hoping that he couldn't dodge it all at once.

Still, Rufus had concocted his plan for Hojo with a bit of extra flair and attention, and only assumed the others had as well. He was still convinced the man had more sadism and cruelty in him than actual talent, had gotten where he was more simply on the ability to do what others didn't have the stomach for. Barely human, Rufus had always thought so, and it wasn't the surprise it ought to have been then, that he'd betrayed them all to something as inhuman as he had probably always wanted to be.

"Nothing of much importance. What they were able to recover concerning the SOLDIER project, after Hojo destroyed all of his research."

The bastard had taken nearly everything with him. An immeasurable loss of materials and knowledge – and personnel, not just documents and databases Hojo had targeted near the end. Of course, there were no living SOLDIERS either, save for Cloud, and his were certainly special circumstances.

"How much did they 'recover'?" Reno wasn't buying his calm nonchalance, not for a moment.

"It might be possible to restart the project, with a ridiculous amount of hard work, and a good deal of luck."

Reno let out a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, throwing his head back against the chair. Rufus smiled thinly at the Turk's glare.

"It's a moot point at the moment. I have no plans to restart the SOLDIER program – at this point even if we could overcome the fatality rate, it wouldn't do us much good, and we don't have the means for it, even then."

Reno was still glaring, because Reno knew him as well as anyone. So there were disadvantages, maybe, to loyalty.

"It has to be an option. We can't afford to be skittish about this. Unless we get lucky, or _supremely_ lucky, and Strife kills himself – we don't have a weapon that can take him down. You know as well as I do, after everything that happened – after Sephiroth..."

Rufus trailed off, wishing there was more he could say. Wishing he felt more like himself, less of an imposter in his own skin. Jormun should not have been able to shake him like that – even with the reality of his situation. He'd faced far worse odds standing against his father, and hadn't ever lost his cool, hadn't broken a sweat. Reno knew it too – and such subtleties had never been his strong point.

"Just more of the same, Reno. Just roadblocks, like always."

An amazing thing about Reno, no matter how far he slouched, he could always find a way to slouch further – and with considerable emotion. Disdain, this time. "Your father had a roadblock too, and eventually it put a sword through him."

"My father sought the help of a madman, to control a weapon that never, ever should have been built. We sure as hell sowed the wind..." Rufus flicked his fingers out, to finish the unspoken regret. His wrist ached, he must have banged it when he fell. Whatever Cloud was dealing with, at least he didn't have such pathetic limitations. He could depend on his body - and sanity was such a fluid concept, really. Sephiroth had been completely gone, and still nearly managed to kill them all.

"If we sink the army in Wutai, there won't be anyone left to defend the reactors. Strife will be able to do whatever the hell he wants, and there won't be anyone left to stop him." Reno looked up. "... and no, I don't trust Valentine, before you ask. If he was going to go after Cloud, he would have done it by now. Shit, the way AVALANCHE has held together, I almost feel too honest being a Turk."

Rufus nodded, finally finding the concentration to gather the papers that had been scattered across the desk. He should have had a strategy, a plan, _something_. Two years was long enough, even with all the work just to get Midgar up and running, to get through the rolling blackouts from one end of the plate to the other – Cloud would come here, once he'd finished with the reactors elsewhere. He would have been here already, had he been thinking rationally, had it not been part of his plan – Rufus knew it had to be. Cloud wanted him to know he was out there, wanted Rufus to know he would attack again, to think about what a few destroyed reactors could do to a city barely back on its feet.

"I don't like this. I don't like what it's doing to you, and I sure as hell don't like that fucker Jormun."

Reno's tone wasn't particularly grating, but Rufus glared at him anyway. If anything, Reno was a thousand times more present than he usually bothered with, watching him with a quiet, steady gaze – the reason Tseng had hired him on, despite the rumors of blackmail. For all his apparent – blatantly apparent – faults, Reno was still a Turk, no different in some ways from the by-the-book Elena or polite Roman or even Valentine. Lethally patient, steady in a way that was dangerous in a fight, close to inhuman in anything worse, and even then it took seeing a SOLDIER up close to know the difference. Rufus had often considered himself a part of that world, but lately he was starting to wonder if the only thing he was truly skilled at was pretending.

"You can't just let that son of a bitch–"

"What do I do then, Reno? What?"

The other man didn't flinch, even though Rufus' voice had gone dangerously icy, the sort of tone he would not have dared to provoke, before Tseng had died and he'd fallen into the position of leader by not dying.

"Jormun has the army, and if I don't let him do this, he'll use that army to take Midgar right out from under us. Do you think he can stop Strife, after we're gone? He wasn't anywhere near Midgar, the last time the world came to an end."

Rufus needed to calm down. He could tell his hands were trembling, underneath the desk. In his mind's eye, a past version of himself was pointing, laughing – but that little bastard would get what was coming. Realize what ego meant, when he stood facing a WEAPON with nothing but a pane of glass between them.

"I am looking down the barrel of two wars here, Reno. _Two_ wars and a military coup, and if I blink – if I give any sign that I'm hesitating, that I'm not in control of every possible element of every situation, we're gone. We're gone, and Jormun loses in Wutai and believes he can treat Strife as an easy kill, because he can't imagine one man could possibly threaten the world. After everything that happened, he still refuses to understand." Rufus dropped his head in his hands, pressing his thumbs hard against closed lids. "Of course by the time Cloud finished things off, we would all be well sequestered in the afterlife, and probably cheering the bastard on."

"So we just wait, and watch the whole thing go down."

"No." Rufus' eyes narrowed – he hadn't been certain about his plans as recently as the morning, but now with Jormun over the edge, pushing his position – it might be their best chance. It might be enough to catch Cloud Strife off guard – and even if it did nothing, even if Strife didn't show up, he couldn't afford to keep losing reactors. He had to act.

"I want to set up a... situation. Either way, this needs to happen, but I can't imagine Strife won't take the bait. He'll see it for what it is, a challenge."

"So I'm going to need to requisition some bigger guns."

"Ask Scarlet." At one point, her division had been more of a joke than anything, Scarlet's designs moderately effective at a ridiculous cost. Since the Crisis, though, she'd been shouldering most of the weight of the technical end of the rebuilding, the engineers mostly under her direction, and most of the Mako-related cleanup as well, including the designs for new reactors – though Cloud had rather effectively sidelined much of that for the moment.

"She can get you whatever you need, along with whatever materia is still working – most of its pretty stable."

Rufus wondered if she was working on anything new, for the second Wutai war. He respected her well enough, but doubted it would make much of a difference either way.

"I want full surveillance, all the Turks on this – Valentine, too, if you can find him."

Reno nodded lazily, still with an eye on him. "So boss... where we headed?"

Rufus folded his hands together, wondered what he would think, looking back at this moment. Wondered just how much he would come to regret it.

"We're restarting the reactor at Nibelheim."

* * *

Barrett let out a heavy sigh, somewhere between annoyance and disbelief, staring at the seven piles of paper on his desk, too tall to see beyond – and wondered which one of them he'd accidentally stacked his sandwich into. It was supposed to be his lunch, though most of the time it got put off until dinner, or afterward. At least, so far, he hadn't lost any of them for good.

He never would have imagined he would end up as the mayor of North Corel, even if so many people seemed to see it as obvious, in the months after the Crisis. He'd gone back to help, to do what he could for his home, to try and rebuild. A hero now, but ShinRa had been to blame for all the time he'd been in exile, and so Barrett had never expected to be exonerated, no matter what he'd done. Never thought that the loose cluster of 'leaders' in North Corel would quietly approach him, and ask him to take command.

It had been strange, playing firmly by the rules again, after so long spent in the underground, in AVALANCHE, always having to pretend what he was doing wasn't an ill fit. But being a rebel hadn't been right even if it was justified, nothing had been right since he'd smelled North Corel burning. So if this was a little more like redemption than it should have been, so be it. It hadn't been easy – nothing after the Crisis had been easy, but it was good, honest work and he'd had more than one quiet apology from the men who'd looked the other way once, ignoring him when he walked down the street. North Corel wasn't just rebuilding, it was improving, the coal providing a good deal more power, with ShinRa still stumbling, needing any steady supply of energy it could find.

Rufus had rebuilt some of the Mako reactors, though not nearly the number there had been before, and he'd promised it was only a temporary solution, until they could find another way to power Midgar, and the rest of the cities that relied on Mako exclusively. It wasn't a good solution, and Barrett hadn't agreed with it – but there hadn't been anything he could do then, and there wasn't now. He didn't trust Rufus, was sure as shit never going to allow ShinRa free reign in their city again, but – he could admit it now – AVALANCHE had gotten lucky, if you could call it luck. It was nothing but coincidence and chance, that they'd seen and done all that they had, and even if he'd wanted to go back to that, blowing up reactors wouldn't do anyone any good. The ShinRa were no longer so untouchable, and after everything that had happened, Rufus seemed to actually understand that, honestly interested in not making things worse.

Amazing, that it was enough to make Barrett trust him, at least for the short-term.

The phone rang, and Barrett immediately wondered which meeting he had missed, holding off through three rings, waiting to remember so he could pick up the phone and apologize. On the fourth ring, he had to relent.

"Hello?"

"Barrett? Is that you?"

"Tifa?" He smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Good to hear from you– how ya been, girl?"

She laughed lightly – forced, he noticed, though Barrett tried to ignore it. A lot of things weren't as natural for Tifa as he thought they should be. Still so young, and yet it seemed she'd cut herself off from the rest of the world. Refused to let anyone else in, after all she'd been through.

"It's good to hear you, too. I'm doing all right. The bar's still in one piece. How's Marlene?"

"Doin fine, even if she's got me for a dad." Barrett glanced up at the clock – plenty of time still, before he had to pick her up from school. "So, everything's good?"

"Y-yeah." Easy to tell then, that everything was very far from fine. Tifa's voice was watery, and though it didn't always take much to make her upset, it took a lot for her to show it.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" Barrett leaned forward, trying to swallow his alarm – he hadn't ever let her know, how he thought of her as a second daughter – but there it was. No answer, and he was about to ask again when she finally spoke.

"You haven't... I mean, you haven't... seen Cloud at all, have you?"

Barrett shut his eyes, clenching his jaw against an onrush of words he'd been trying not to use, ever since Marlene had picked up some of Uncle Cid's favorite expressions. He should have known it would come down to that, Cloud Strife moving in and out of Tifa's life whenever it would cause the most damage. The kid was fucked up, there was no denying it, and unlike the rest of them, Cloud hadn't wanted to change, hadn't tried to move on. He'd disappeared, while everything had still been going to hell, and had never made an attempt to contact any of them, to even let them know he was still alive.

"What did he do to you?"

"What?" Tifa was a good girl, and she loved Cloud more than he ever could have given back – she'd protect him, even when he sure as shit didn't deserve it. "No, he didn't – I haven't seen him, not since before... Cid called. He said that Cloud attacked him. Nearly destroyed the Highwind. The Turks... the Turks were here, too."

Tifa was crying, loud enough now that he could hear it through the phone. Barrett hated feeling helpless, and hated how much of his life he'd spent feeling that way.

"You should come down here, Tifa. Close down the bar for a while, get away. Marlene would love to see you." Easier to protect her, or at least give her a real shoulder to cry on.

No answer, and he knew she'd never accept the offer. Tifa was always so determined to stand on her own, to prove that she didn't need anyone, and Barrett hadn't quite understood it, until Cloud had shown up the first time. The first time she'd been kind and he'd completely ignored her, Barrett resisted the urge to throw Cloud's head through the wall. It hadn't gotten easier after that.

"I do miss her. Is she doing ok in school?"

Changing the subject, trying to pretend there still weren't tears in her voice. Trying to be strong, as if he wasn't the only one who ever saw her cry, anyway.

"Doing fine. Smartest one in her class." Barrett shifted uneasily in his chair. "The Turks came to see you? Threaten you, for not knowing where Cloud was?"

If Rufus thought having a city to lose would keep Barrett from defending his friends, he wasn't half as smart as he looked. Barrett knew what it felt like to lose his home, it hurt like hell. Betraying Tifa, not protecting her, that would hurt a hell of a lot worse.

"Protecting me." She laughed, a sharp, wet sound. "Reno said it was for my protection, that they needed to warn me. He said Cloud was dangerous, that he wasn't just fighting for Wutai, that he was blowing up reactors for his own reasons. That he might... Reno had these pictures – I didn't think, I didn't want to think - but Cloud he attacked Cid? How could he do that? Why would he?"

"Hey, hey – calm down, girl. Breathe."

Barrett tried to soothe her, wishing he was better at it, or that he'd been there to deal with the Turks. Wishing he were a better liar, that he could say things would be all right. She believed in Cloud, she made excuses for him – but Tifa wasn't blind, she knew what he was, better than any of them.

It wasn't all the kid's fault, Barrett knew that. Whatever ShinRa had done to Cloud was beyond imagining, even Valentine seemed to be wary, watching Cloud quietly when he thought no one noticed. Maybe the kid couldn't help it, what had been done to him, what it had changed him into, but Barrett wasn't about to stand by and let Tifa get hurt because she couldn't stop caring about him.

"I got him back, Barrett. I found Cloud, I brought him back, and I thought it would be okay. I knew... I thought I knew - but this isn't about home, and it isn't about Aeris. I don't know if it ever was – I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do for him."

Barrett could think of a half-dozen things he wanted to do _to_ Cloud, but nothing that would help Tifa now.

"You can't help him, if he doesn't want to be helped. You know that. Whatever crazy shit he's doing, he abandoned us all two years ago. He walked away, whatever his dumb-ass reasons – and if... shit, I don't trust the Turks as far as I could throw them, but if he did attack the Highwind..."

Nothing good, between Wutai and ShinRa – not for nearly as long as he'd been alive. Until this moment, though, Barrett didn't think it had anything to do with him. Far away, and not his concern – and damn Cloud Strife, if he dragged them all back into a fight that wasn't theirs. The kid didn't need company, Barrett knew that for damn sure, more than capable of falling just fine on his own.

He'd joined them as a mercenary. In it for the money, disinterested in the greater good, in anything but his own benefit. In the most important ways, no matter what had happened, Barrett didn't think things had changed. Still a part of Cloud that couldn't feel, that didn't care, just not normal.

"You should come here, Tifa." Pretending Cloud couldn't carve a path right through him, if that was what it came to. "Just for a while, until we know what's going on."

"I'll be all right, Barrett. I have a life here, now. I can't just run away whenever I get scared."

Barrett could hear it in her voice – she knew Cloud was coming, that she was high on whatever list his crazy-ass mind had come up with. Tifa would wait for him, she always had – and Barrett wouldn't let himself think further than that.

"I will kill him if he hurts you again, Tifa. I swear, if I have to find another Meteor materia and _feed it to him_, I will." The rage didn't do anything for the fear, the cold clench at his gut – he was helpless to save her, and she wanted it that way. He couldn't do anything to change that. "You be safe, okay? Be smart, don't... damn it, Tifa, we didn't get through all that shit for you to up and do something stupid now."

"I'll be careful, Barrett. I promise. You be careful, too. Tell Marlene I said hi."

He listened to the sound of the broken connection for a long moment, before dropping the phone back on the table, rubbing a hand over his face. It was difficult, not to want to blow something up – even more difficult when he had a chaingun where his hand used to be, and he still was too paranoid not to keep the damn thing loaded most of the time.

"Shit."

Barrett halfheartedly shuffled the papers on his desk, but there was no chance in hell of getting his attention back on any of it, not when he could close his eyes, barely blink, and see –

Tifa was a fighter, and a damn good one, but Cloud was more than that. He wasn't human _or_ right in the head and she wouldn't fight him, if it came down to that. She'd let him... she'd let him kill her, she would, before she'd ever think of fighting back.

Barrett pushed himself away from his desk, quickly walking out of the office, out into town, nodding and raising a hand to the people who waved, called out greetings as he passed. A good town, and as they rebuilt, it no longer looked so much like the wreckage of the first town. So little remained, even now, of those burnt and broken places. The air didn't smell charred, not even on rainy days – and he could finally move on, they could all move on. It wasn't right, wasn't fair of Cloud to come back after all this time, to be any threat to these people and their way of life. He hadn't stayed, hadn't made any attempt to rebuild, to even say goodbye – what right did he have to come back?

Barrett was somewhat surprised by the thought – that he really had left Cloud in the past, another memory buried with the rest. It wasn't fair to the kid, not when he'd been the one to strike the final blow, when he'd finally thrown off all the bullshit and taken down Sephiroth without the slightest hesitation, doing what had to be done. He was a hero – and there was something terribly wrong, in realizing that maybe Cloud knew, had always known he'd save a world he couldn't live in.

As soon as he'd picked up Marlene, after dinner was over and she was safely in bed, he would call Reeve. Demand an explanation – he wasn't any happier with the idea that the Turks were coming out to see Tifa, scaring her, or that Rufus might be forgetting what they'd done for him. Maybe see if he couldn't get more protection for Tifa – and find out what exactly had happened with Cid. Maybe this was just about the war, and while Cloud had attacked the Highwind, attacked his former ally – if he'd wanted to kill Cid, there was no doubt he would have.

The school was a relatively small building, but new, and as well-equipped as any of the private academies in Midgar. Barrett had seen to that, and no one in the town had complained, wanting to give their children the best future possible. Marlene had done wonderfully, surrounded by friends and always in the top of her class. It had been an especially impressive treat, when Barrett had been able to get Nanaki to drop in one day for show-and-tell.

He picked her up every afternoon, usually in the front of the building, though it wasn't surprising when she wasn't there, sometimes staying to help the teacher in her room, or playing with her friends on the playground.

Marlene's teacher was tidying up when Barrett poked his head in. She smiled brightly when she saw him – not only the mayor, and a single father, but a doting single father, who'd never missed a parent-teacher night. He was quite popular among many of the teachers, and more than a few of the other single mothers, though so far his work schedule had given him no time to consider enjoying it. Barrett glanced around the empty room, frowning slightly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace, Marlene isn't here. A man came by, he said he was a friend of yours, and that he was taking her to meet you, at the cliffs. I thought you knew - she seemed to know him. A little odd, he had the strangest eyes, and -"

Barrett was out the door before she could finish. His heart wasn't in his chest anymore, though something was pounding there. Pounding and screaming, loud enough that he couldn't hear himself breathe as he ran. Begging for help from what he knew was only empty air, and he swore he could smell the heat, the burning – not again, not this. No.

Where would he have taken her? Why did Cloud want Marlene, and what the hell could Barrett do once he found them? A gunarm was not a particularly target-specific weapon, and he damn well knew he couldn't take the SOLDIER down with it. If he could find them. If Cloud hadn't already...

The cliffs. God, please. Please, please...

The streets he'd passed through now seemed eerily quiet, though it would have been no good to find anyone – no time to explain, no one that could help him anyway. Mind blank with panic, Barrett had no plan, skidding around the corner of a tumbled-down building at the edge of town, a small dirt path leading to the edge of a clearing, the highest overlook in North Corel. He'd start there, even if they weren't – but they were, because Cloud had no reason to hide. Wanted Barrett to see them standing right at the edge, patiently waiting for his arrival.

Marlene was wide eyed, tears spilling over her cheeks when she saw him. Barrett could see her lean forward, ready to run, but Cloud stopped her, hand tightening on her shoulder. How much would it take, to break her arm? Would Cloud even notice?

"Daddy..."

"It's all right, Marlene." Barrett kept his voice steady, not sure how he managed. "It's all right, baby. I'm right here. Everything's going to be fine." A cold, sick knot of fear, as he turned his eyes toward the glowing blue ones, because it wasn't his choice to make.

"Hello, Barrett. We were just talking a little, waiting for you." Cloud gestured with his free hand, back toward town. "North Corel looks pretty good. Amazing what ShinRa money can do, isn't it?"

"We worked damn hard, to rebuild it. We still work hard." Barrett didn't fight the stubbornness, the anger. If he could juggle false bravado along with the unimaginable panic, maybe he could make it through, at least save Marlene. "I hear you're crazy now, kid. Real crazy. Attacked Cid and his ship. Fighting for Wutai. Blowing up reactors. You got the Turks after you, all the ShinRa right up your ass."

"Who called you, then? Tifa? Probably her, right?"

Cloud laughed softly, without a trace of amusement, unholy fire in his eyes well past the Mako burn. So close to the edge, all he would have to do was push back, even lightly, and there was no way Barrett could reach Marlene before she fell. At least she wasn't moving, frozen in fear, making only the slightest soft sounds of panic as the tears continued to fall.

"Do you think having friends is a liability, Barrett? Loved ones? Not just because of the ShinRa – just, in general. It doesn't really seem to be worth the risk, the inevitable loss. It's how ShinRa plays the game. Threatening what matters most, so everyone does what they want – and it works." He tightened his grip slightly around Marlene's arm. If he jumped, Barrett would follow them over, there wouldn't be a choice. "It seemed so simple, once. I never imagined it could be like this."

"It don't look so complicated to me." Barrett leaned forward. "You let her go."

Cloud's hand slowly slid from Marlene's shoulder, drying her cheek with the side of his palm, cupping her chin delicately in his hand. Still looking at Barrett, the warning clear – he didn't need to let her fall, he'd snap her neck before the other man could take a single step.

"What d'you want, Strife? What the fuck do you want?" Let him give an answer, god let him do that. Let him talk crazy for a fucking hour if he wanted to. Whatever he wanted, that ended with his baby girl still breathing.

"I'm not your enemy, Barrett. As much as we never liked each other, I don't have a reason to hate you, or your daughter." Hand still on Marlene's chin, still in that gentle, potentially lethal grasp, Cloud looked up, charting some invisible path in the pure blue sky.

"Things are going to go badly for Rufus ShinRa, soon. Very, very badly. The ShinRa Electric Power Company will find themselves without electricity or power. He will want North Corel to pick up even more of the slack, as he has many terribly important wars to lose. It would be a very _profitable_ arrangement, if you accept his terms."

As bad as he'd feared, this was all as bad as he'd feared. Much worse, really – though Barrett was starting to think he could never be enough of a pessimist to keep up with the problems in this world. Cloud tipped his head slightly, his expression still patient and mild.

"Rufus will ask you, and bribe you, and threaten you for your cooperation – and I want to know what you're going to tell him."

Barrett hated swallowing his pride. He hated burying bodies much, much more. Marlene was staring at him in silent terror – and of course, he was helpless, there was no choice.

"... whatever you want me to."

Cloud's smile was proud, maddeningly self-satisfied, and completely unhinged.

"You know, Barrett, I always thought you should have been the leader."

The next few moments slowed into an eternity, Cloud pushing Marlene forward even as he leaned back, disappearing over the edge of the cliff. Barrett lunging for his child, catching her, chambering his gunarm and snapping it down – it could have only taken seconds, whatever it felt like – but Cloud was already gone. Vanished into nothing, and even as he looked wildly for a target relief buckled his knees, lungs full of breathless prayers as Marlene clung to him, sobbing.


	11. Chapter 11

Sephiroth didn't really remember dying, though of course it must have happened along the way. Maybe it mattered, maybe it didn't - he'd seen death often enough to know that the particulars weren't always of much importance.

It was never far from his thoughts, although there was certainly heavy competition with all the other questions, the grim certainties of his present situation. Sephiroth stayed as low as he could manage. He avoided people, and kept to the outskirts of small towns, and hated the queasy, skittish feeling in his gut that told him this was exactly the right thing to do. He stole when he had to, took kindness when it was offered, kept the hood on his cloak up and his eyes down as a reflex. Severe Mako poisoning, he said, memory loss and scarring and light sensitivity - among other things. After that, everyone noticed the gloves he'd put on, the way he kept his head down, and stopped being curious. He was no longer something they hadn't seen before.

The reactor had exploded at Gongaga. ShinRa had expected such an outcome – eventually - at one of the rural reactors, and Sephiroth already knew the margins, the percentages. The problems that would never be fixed, because paying off the survivors was cheaper than rebuilding what remained.

The problems that wouldn't be fixed because - perhaps - someone wanted to study the results of widespread Mako contamination on a town's populace.

Casualties there, of course, but he wasn't familiar enough with the town itself to know or even guess how many of them were villagers, who had made it out – if anyone had. The man who'd told him of it, after Sephiroth had brought up mako poisoning, had not been optimistic.

Hope had all but died in this world, it seemed. All Sephiroth had to do was drop 'ShinRa' or 'Crisis' or 'Mako' in the right place, and he could pick and choose from the revealed horrors, enough to verify that the former soldier-turned-fisherman hadn't been exaggerating about the things that were common knowledge, which meant he probably hadn't been exaggerating at all.

The President was gone, the SOLDIER program was dead, and Midgar itself had nearly followed them down. ShinRa had failed in all their grand experiments, and it had cost them everything. The world had been at the precipice of total destruction, pulled back by a SOLDIER Sephiroth had never heard of, but still remembered – remembered blue eyes that had looked at him without flinching, though there was nothing like redemption.

Blue eyes, not as dark as Zack's had been. Bright and sharp and young enough to cut – an innocence that still knew the truth, knew how far Sephiroth had fallen, how he'd failed from all that he'd tried to be. Blank despair in the brilliant Mako eyes – he remembered that, and dreaded finding out just what had put it there.

The question was not if Zack was dead, but where and when and how. The question was not how he had failed, as a SOLDIER and a commander and a friend, but if he could bear to face the unspoken truth he could feel closing in on him. He had known ShinRa's weaknesses, he had been acutely aware of Hojo's lies, of the President's deceit, of the minor sins of an entire city full of useless, scheming bureaucrats. He had known always, that balking from Zack's friendship, being so uncomfortable with such a simple thing – it had been an abnormal reaction, and singularly worse than all the other differences that set him apart.

He had failed, somehow. The moment had come as he'd always suspected it would – the test of himself, of everything he'd told himself he was - and he had not known himself as well as his enemies had. Not as well as that sickeningly sly look in Hojo's eyes, as if he could see right through him, as if he knew each of Sephiroth's secret doubt, every moment of weakness.

His fault. His failure. All of it.

The thought ate at him, the certainty of it, without any proof. The conviction that he didn't even know enough, to realize the worst of it. A thousand paths he could take – he already knew where Cloud Strife was, or at least the majority of the rumors that left him at Wutai, preparing to fight the ShinRa for the island, again. It had never been stable, Sephiroth knew that. Wutai had never really belonged to ShinRa no matter how they deluded themselves. So many lives lost, for such a temporary 'gain.' So that the President could claim that he'd ruled the whole world, if only for a moment.

The Planet didn't have any interest in wars or the politics behind them – but there were other rumors, the destruction of Mako reactors, and Strife's name came up there as well. Still, it made little sense, all of the research ShinRa never divulged publicly – hell, a look _around_ Midgar, at the parched and dead earth surrounding the city spoke to what Mako reactors did to the Planet. If Cloud was serving their interests by destroying them, why would the Planet want him dead? Why send Sephiroth to kill him?

He needed answers, not just rumors, which meant ShinRa, and even half-broken as the company seemed to be, Sephiroth knew better than to approach them openly. The company was dangerous enough when it had things well in hand, the least sign of weakness and it might very well turn on itself like a mad and ravenous animal.

Sephiroth had avenues, of course - he was staring at one right now. An outpost, thankfully still standing, relatively unnoticed in the middle of nowhere. A ShinRa failsafe, and he wasn't surprised that ten years hadn't streamlined the budget – unlikely anyone at the top even realized they were still paying for it, or what it had even been intended for. The base itself was useless, but it would be equipped with at least one functioning computer that could connect to the main system in Midgar.

As far as he could tell, there was only one guard and a supervisor – typical, and the thought that it would be nothing at all to kill both of them flitted through his mind quite readily. It was more of a risk not to, and he didn't want to think about the blood that must have soaked his hands – or who it belonged to – that he ignored that voice and it's rational advice without hesitating. No more blood, no more death, not these men or Cloud Strife or anyone else, if he could do anything to stop it.

He still hesitated. It was one thing to shuffle at the edges of crowds with a cloak hiding his face – this was another game entirely, and he wasn't sure if he was worried more that it wouldn't work, or that he would find that everything slipped right back into place with no effort at all.

Either this would work, or he was about to see if the Planet could resurrect him twice.

Sephiroth squared his shoulders, and strode out of the tree line, directly toward the small building.

The soldier standing guard was surprisingly young, and half-asleep. He made it to the middle of the small clearing before the man even noticed him. He startled badly, jerking his weapon up – aiming over Sephiroth's shoulder, actually, though he probably thought he was dead on. Sephiroth didn't slow down. "I said halt! Stop and state your business!"

The door behind him slammed open, an older man with a permanent scowl on his face coming down the stairs. "Dammit boy, what in hell are you-" He saw who was standing at the other end of his gun, and spluttered to a halt. "Stand down! You fucking moron, stand down!"

Confused, the young trooper lowered his gun, and Sephiroth moved around him without looking, listening to the other man continue to splutter.

"General, sir? We didn't... I mean, I didn't hear, I... uh."

He barely bothered to glance up, kept his expression blank, even a bit displeased. Usually, when he was upset, people liked to get him moving out of their way as soon as possible.

"Sir... uh, we heard – there were rumors... It's been _years_, sir."

Sephiroth didn't slow his step, barely bothered to look at the man.

"I've been deep cover. Special assignment."

The soldier didn't argue, made no motion to protest. It was true, then. Whatever had happened to him, ShinRa had said nothing about it, not even to their own troops. Of course, what reason would they have? Why risk their image?

"I need access to your computer system." He rounded on the man, making sure to use the tone he only bothered with when Heidigger was being stubborn, a icy tone that could make even Zack squirm. "I was never here. Do you understand?"

The man snapped to attention so fast he probably sprained something.

"Yes sir. Of course, sir."

Sephiroth would have asked for privacy, but it was clear the moment he turned away that the man would flee. He had to duck to enter the small trailer, nearly breaking the cheap door off its hinges. The rest of the room was as cheaply made, and smelled of stale coffee, but there was a working computer. In a few moments' time he'd managed to wedge himself behind the desk, with a secure line into ShinRa's internal databases.

All of his passwords still worked. He had to ignore the reflex to check his mail.

_Oh, Rufus. Really. I thought you were more paranoid than this._ Sephiroth smirked, could only wonder what – in all that chaos – had been enough, that two years later no one had gone in for even the most cursory sweep of the systems.

He followed the words down the first screen, scrolling and scrolling, past pictures and descriptions and cost analysis - long after he needed to, to know. Long after he could even manage to read it, all his thoughts drowned out by a growing, static horror.

He looked over, away from the screen, following the fake grain on the fake wood on the other side of the wall, picking out the places it was broken – here and there – the tiniest cracks in the plastic. He had amazing eyesight, it had saved his men countless times, picking well-hidden snipers out of the jungle canopy, or a sneak attack from a thousand yards in total darkness.

All dead. All of them. He could have a list, alphabetized or by date or location, any way he wanted. Zack had not suffered in the Crisis, had not fallen in the final battle – he'd been dead for years by then.

Sephiroth himself had died in Nibelheim, a tiny little town that didn't even appear on half the maps of the area. He had massacred an entire village of innocent civilians along with Zack and every other soldier present, and then he had died, vanished in the Lifestream – and then five years later, he had come back to kill President ShinRa.

There had been an informal pool, at one time, on who might get angry and lucky enough to kill the bastard. Sephiroth couldn't remember what his own odds had been – not too high, mostly based on the fact he hadn't done it yet. Rufus had always been the favorite.

A few more keystrokes, and he finally saw what a WEAPON looked like, and how a picture with any detail at all filled his screen four screen-lengths in both directions. Easier to understand, afterward, why anyone who had seen one of these would think it was the end of the world.

The information had been badly ordered in the file, bundled together in crude clusters, but there was enough to damn him a thousand times or more. Images, video clips – a small piece of film, cut together for the record. Abstracts of green-gray movement spliced with bursts of static. Most of them were nearly unintelligible. A reactor – _the _reactor. Nibelheim.

He didn't even realize it was a fight until it was over. Didn't see it was Zack until the Masamune went through him, brought the blurred fury of motion to a sudden, jerking halt. Watched his own triumphant expression as the only man he'd trusted more than himself slowly slid off the end of his blade.

The examination room he'd spent much of his childhood in had eight tiles across, and twelve deep. The floor had four-hundred and six mold-green tiles in the floor. Sephiroth had counted the two-thousand, six-hundred and ninety two pinprick dots in the tile directly above his head, enough to know the number was accurate, and to know when the worst of the Mako was about to peak, because they would go too blurry to see, no matter how hard he focused.

Details. Innocuous details that his mind filled up on because there was little else that could keep it occupied for long. The five branches of a river in Wutai, near where they'd been encamped for a few months in the middle of the war. The combination to Zack's locker, whenever he'd needed to take out whatever contraband his second had stashed there. The lyrics of the stupid pop song Zack had been singing, on their way to Nibelheim. The numbers on the file that had been in his hand, reading it over and barely half-interested, with no idea what was to come.

Zack's laugh. Zack's eyes. The only man who'd ever been brave enough to smile at him and mean it.

Sephiroth was a monster, had always been a monster. He could only do what monsters did. Only Zack had ever thought otherwise.

_You were so sure ShinRa would never play you, so sure you would see it coming._ All the vows to himself, strapped into that table with his hands fisting against the straps and clenching his teeth and Hojo making him more, better, _different_. Less human by the moment. _Whatever happened, whatever they did, you wouldn't be their pawn, not when it mattered._

The arm of the chair snapped as he flexed his hand, Sephiroth dropped it without looking, clicked on the video, played it again. Watching his own hand deliver that final blow, knowing he would have done it perfectly. It would have been lethal, even for a SOLDIER. Aware there were more files further down, some with Zack's name, but forcing himself to keep watching, keep clicking back until every moment and movement was burned into his memory.

_Why the theatrics? _The snide voice ripped into him like molten nails, hammered deep. _ShinRa made you, and built you, and you never disappointed them. What do you think Zack did? What do you think he said? How hard did he try to help you, whatever the fuck you did, before you killed him? I bet he was surprised, in the end. I bet he thought you wouldn't do it. I bet he thought you were smarter than that._

Sephiroth pulled his hands away from the computer for a few moments, not trusting himself to break it all, not trusting himself – as if it wasn't laughably late to bother thinking like that.

The next set of files he found were still on Nibelheim, but no longer directly concerning the 'incident'. It seemed the village had always been nothing but a prop, a convenient front for ShinRa's true motives. Hojo's name appeared in far too many places in only a cursory glance, and Sephiroth clicked on an image of the primary test subject, and found himself face-to-face with the image from his dreams, the man he'd been sent to kill.

A burn at his back, a deep chill, and Sephiroth knew exactly what was behind him but kept looking, did not turn away.

Cloud Strife had been a private – small and quiet and motion sick, he remembered Zack speaking with him, just for a moment. One of the nameless, faceless masses, the rank-and-file – and so it seemed his place in this was entirely accidental.

It seemed Sephiroth had run a sword through him as well.

The Nibelheim project, by design or accident or perhaps a bit of both. Zack hadn't died, not right away. The boy, the private, had been put through an accelerated program. Nothing so simple as SOLIDER – this was an attempt to create another version of him, a better super SOLDIER, tearing the subject apart and building what they wanted up from scratch. No oversight, no conditions – except for the file he was looking at, the project didn't actually exist.

Sephiroth had put a child on that table, with Hojo.

He had to shut his eyes. It took all his strength not to do a great deal more.

"You should let him kill me again. You should let him kill me and keep killing me. It should have been why you brought me back."

He could see through the girl, glimmering green with the power of the Lifestream – half opaque, except for the sword she held in her hands, flat across her palms. If she'd been real, he doubted she could have held the Masamune at all.

"Go to hell." How many people had he killed with that sword? How many times had he wished he could choose his targets? It really was a goddamn shame he couldn't remember killing President ShinRa.

The look in her eyes, compassion and wisdom both, made him angry, because it was much easier being angry than having to deal with the rest of it – he'd killed Zack. He'd done worse than kill Zack.

"He's not alive, is he?"

The girl only looked back, stoic and solemn and terribly sad. He had to have known her, for her to be here now, even though he did not remember her face. Sephiroth hated knowing, without her having to say a word. Hated that there was any kind of connection there.

Hojo had despised Zack, saw him as an inexcusable annoyance, a distraction – had known him for exactly what he was, the only connection Sephiroth had to a future that wasn't made and controlled by the ShinRa. The largest part of the very small piece of his life that actually belonged to him. Sephiroth had thought it was enough, that somehow it would be enough. So stupid, to be such a tactician, such a soldier, and think it would be enough to make the difference, that ShinRa wouldn't crush him the way it had crushed everything else.

Zack had offered to have Hojo thrown out a window once, as part of his birthday present. After he'd eaten half the cake. He'd known a guy who knew a window, which hadn't been all that surprising. The prospect of Hojo's untimely demise had been the subject of its own betting pool, though Sephiroth's odds had been considerably higher there.

Just imagine what Hojo would have done to Zack. Imagine how bad it had been for all those years, when the professor hadn't really been trying to hurt Sephiroth, would never have damaged his prize experiment on purpose.

The boy would have screamed. Would have begged for a mercy that wasn't there.

"I won't do it, not like this. I won't kill Strife because of what I did to him. I'll find another way. I owe him that much."

Zack wouldn't have been talking to Strife in the transport, if they hadn't been friends. He was the last connection to Zack, then, and the only thing Sephiroth had that looked anything like salvation. God help him, if killing Strife _was_ the only merciful option.

He braced himself, waited for the girl, the Lifestream to punish him for his words, to demand his obedience. Instead, she smiled, sad and knowing and even more than that, an emotion he didn't understand.

"Show me. I need to know."

He could spend hours poring over the files, but they had given him the information he needed to get this far and he knew she could give him more. She could give him everything they hadn't - she hadn't come simply to deliver him his sword. He probably didn't even have to ask, but it was nice to maintain the illusion of having a choice.

"Show me. Please."

Sephiroth only had a moment, when he could still manage a coherent thought, in the instant she tore his mind in half and just before she buried him alive in memories, in all the horror he had missed out on, to think that maybe he was better off not knowing.

* * *

The first time Yuffie had kissed him, the world was coming to an end.

Cloud had come back to them, when no one had thought he would, when Vincent had been silent as stone and Barrett was angry and Cid had gone nearly gray, with the thought of having to finish this on his own. Everyone had seemed so excited, when he'd returned, that Yuffie wondered if none of them realized how false it all seemed. A celebration for the fact that Cloud was the best weapon they had, and he'd take the first hit and probably quite a few afterward, and it would have been funny to watch everyone dance around the fact, if she hadn't been so stupid, if she hadn't gotten involved.

Cloud wasn't even in the room for much of the excitement, mumbling something about weariness or wanting to go over a map – no one paid much attention, too busy congratulating themselves on what Yuffie knew as luck. More luck than they deserved perhaps, and that was certainly not a thing to bring the gods' attention to with any declarations. Vincent stood quietly in the corner as always, and Yuffie glared at him, waiting for him to go after Cloud, but he didn't notice her and didn't move.

Adults were idiots. Yuffie dreaded having to become one.

Tifa had kept her silence about what had happened for maybe two minutes – three, if Yuffie wanted to round up, but apparently she couldn't say no to an audience, explaining what had happened to the two of them in great detail. How she'd been in Cloud's thoughts, in some other world. Not nearly as solemn about it all as Yuffie thought she should have been - and she'd been the one to fall asleep every time the shamans dusted off the old tales.

Cid and Barrett and Cait Sith were all listening in – for how much none of them actually trusted Cloud, it certainly was entertaining enough to invade his privacy – and if she'd been there, Yuffie would have hucked Tifa off that mountain herself, and made sure to do it right.

"He let go of... that other person, of Zack. He knew he wasn't alone anymore. Cloud knew we could get through it together, all of us."

From the way Cloud had told it, the way she herself had explained it before, Tifa had spent most of her childhood pretending he didn't exist.

"Yeah, we're all in this together."

Cid, and his voice was steady but he looked grim and tired and old. Barrett was still worried about his daughter – all the time, though he kept quiet about it. Cait Sith – Reeve – Yuffie didn't even know what to make of that, what would happen to him at the end. Spies discovered by the clans were cut into pieces and hung on the palace walls.

All of them glad Cloud had returned, all of them aware the worst of this would fall on him first, and hardest. Just like with Aeris, just the same – and she'd died smiling, and it had been horrible.

Yuffie felt sick again, but for entirely different reasons. It was too much, the buzz of so many voices rising in self-congratulation, and Tifa spouting selfish, pointless nonsense like it was oracular brilliance – like she _mattered_ so damn much, with the Aeris-shaped hole still so evident in the world. As if anyone expected her to try and fill it – as if Cloud expected... couldn't Tifa see that, when a stupid ninja girl who'd just met them all could see it so clearly?

All this time, Cloud had been looking right at something none of them could see. Silently watching another story play out, something perhaps even more important, more painful than the Crisis. Aeris had known it all, but she was the only one who had, even with what Vincent suspected, and Yuffie only knew that she didn't know a damn thing.

"It's not like Cloud came back for_ you_."

The snarling words were a surprise, even for her. It was more than enough to silence the room, so that Tifa's slap rung out clear as day. It didn't hurt much, Yuffie didn't reach up to touch the bright red mark the glove had left, and the fighter seemed as shocked as anyone that she'd done it at all. It was a winning move, to turn away from the apology in the brown eyes, and so Yuffie did – they didn't get along so well, they never really had.

It didn't really dawn on her just why, or why she had more important things to think about than finding ways to pick Tifa's pockets as often as possible – until Cloud had stopped outside her cabin door, later that evening.

"I heard what you said to Tifa."

Yuffie could hear the hint of approval in his voice, but didn't believe it, looking up to see the small smile on Cloud's face, as he sat down next to her with a soft sigh. The quarters were all cramped aboard ship, beds so small their shoulders were touching even as she tried to give the appearance of shifting over. It shouldn't have meant anything, obviously didn't to Cloud, but she felt a little thrill run through her nonetheless. The slightest touch, and she could still feel how strong he was, how much power he always held in check. The Black Materia would have been a moot point, had Sephiroth been as successful in controlling his 'puppet' as he'd wanted to be – Yuffie sure as hell knew she couldn't begin to take on Cloud, perhaps even with the rest of AVALANCHE at her side.

He glanced behind her, and frowned slightly.

"I don't have a window in my room."

Yuffie grinned slyly. "I told Cid I'd hurl for sure if he didn't give me one."

Of course, she'd been only half-joking, the constant rock and sway of surfaces that should have been stable still making her stomach lurch erratically. A horrible burden for a ninja princess to bear, in all respects. Especially with Cloud so close. He said he'd gotten motion sick long ago – Nibelheim – but that was long ago, in a place where everything in the world had changed, or where he'd changed so much that the world was no longer familiar.

"It's not right of her, you know, to want things from you." She could feel him shift where he sat, but he didn't say anything back. "It's not right for any of us, even if we don't have a choice but to ask."

Yuffie looked up, looked him right in the eye because she wanted him to know she understood that grown-up, adult words were coming out of her mouth, and meant for it to sound like she was serious. Even if her heart was beating right up into her throat and refused to do anything else.

It was a mistake, not the words but the looking him in the eye, and it wasn't the first time Yuffie wondered if the Mako process really had to change them like that, or if they'd done it on purpose, nothing on the entire planet half as breathtaking or terrifying or wonderful as looking into Cloud's eyes. The only sort of eyes she could imagine that could actually drag someone down and drown them, flashing and flaring. Never still, never quiet - wide swaths of glowing blue suddenly fizzling out into paler lines, like tiny arcs of lightning, bursting back to brightness as soon as they had faded.

It was really good she had such a wonderful history of impulsiveness, or kissing him would have been harder to justify. Cloud inhaled sharply, startled, just as her lips pressed against his, but if this was a mistake, if she'd completely overstepped – so what, she was a ninja and sixteen and only had a handful of kisses to her name and _ninja_, ninjas didn't have to care –

Yuffie started to lean away, sure she'd jumped without looking again, ready to apologize when Cloud's hand came up, cupping the side of her face, drawing her back into an even deeper kiss. Unexpected from a man who so rarely bothered moving outside of battle, who didn't seem to bother with things like 'need' and 'want,' and she'd known it wasn't like that, just _knew it_ - and Yuffie stopped the self-congratulatory bullshit in favor of enjoying Cloud's lips and Cloud's tongue and his remarkable care, every movement a silent question, as if her open acceptance still wasn't enough to convince him of his welcome. She hadn't expected this, not shyness, that she might have to reassure him, but it was fun to try, and when she finally did draw back she was breathless and ready for anything.

Yuffie knew what step two was, or should have been, but Cloud caught the hand she reached out with, held it gently, looking at her as if he had no idea how he'd ended up here.

"I know, Cloud. I do."

His eyes flashed again, sharp enough that she nearly jumped. "It's not you. Or her." A slight quirk of his lips, not quite a smile. "Or the fact that this is probably illegal."

"I know. It's him."

Cloud flinched hard, looked away, and Yuffie regretted saying it. Wondered if Cloud knew that Vincent knew, and that even if he did they would have never said a thing to each other, not out loud. Part of being an adult, one of the parts that she hadn't figured out yet. Her voice was a whisper, as if making the words quiet would somehow make them hurt less.

"You really love him, don't you? You still do."

What the hell, if he was never going to talk to her again, she might as well go for broke. Cloud was silent for a long moment, maybe searching for the words, maybe about to leave. Yuffie was ready to apologize, just to break the still, when the answer came.

"He's... gone, he's been dead since Nibelheim. No one here ever knew him, the real him." Cloud's voice was low, hollow and soft, and she knew he didn't really care what she heard or not. Didn't care about any of them, probably hadn't... ever. Cloud wasn't doing this on their behalf, they'd all just been along for the ride.

... and Tifa said Cloud had never known Sephiroth. And Tifa said he'd let go of all the memories of the person who really did.

"I shouldn't be here," Cloud shook his head as if trying to scatter the thoughts he didn't want to have. "It's – it's too hard, not to think they don't deserve it. That we don't... that this isn't well-deserved. A punishment. All over the world, everywhere we've been – they won't appreciate what we're probably going to die for. What Aeris died for. People who just don't matter, completely interchangeable with each other, and they'll live and die and never feel grateful for any of it, or change, or try. None of it will have mattered, nothing they could have been anything the world ever needed."

Mako blue eyes looked into her own, and Yuffie could hear her heart again, pounding right up into her ears, as breathless as if he'd never stopped kissing her. It was the longest he'd ever talked to her, the most he'd ever said, though it was clear why he didn't make any heroic speeches.

"Zack was... it wasn't just Sephiroth, and I don't know what- She was... Tifa was in there, she saw it, and she still doesn't..." Cloud fisted a hand against his thigh, helpless. "You shouldn't be here, Yuffie. The_ last_ thing I need to do is drag another person-"

"My father doesn't know why my mother chose him. She was the most beautiful woman in all Wutai – the men all fought for her, and she chose him. He still talks about it that way – he still doesn't believe it really happened like it did."

More than one person had said she'd inherited that beauty, would grow into it, but Yuffie thought it was the polite sort of crap people said to people whose fathers were clan chief. Her gangly awkwardness was almost certainly terminal by now.

"It destroyed my father, losing her. You saw... you saw what he was like." She understood – not enough, but she did. Yuffie twisted her fingers together in the silence, wished she had the right words. "I'm sorry."

"I wish..." Cloud's expression twisted, as the words seemed to stick in him – it wasn't safe, to want. "I can't let that_ thing _do this. Not with his face, not in his name. He'd want someone – anyone – to do this, to stop her. I can do this for him." His smile was small, and humble, and broken. "It's the only thing I'll ever be able to do, for either of them."

Hard to imagine what it must have been like, for Cloud, to lose Sephiroth in Nibelheim, to watch it happen and lose so much else besides. Gain him back – only the ghost of him, a monster with his face, and to fight with everything he had just to bury that shadow again. A funeral, the same funeral over and over, with all the rites and rituals slowly stripped of any meaning, or comfort. Only the loss would stay the same, sharper and clearer with every iteration, and Yuffie knew the look in his eyes. Had seen it in her father's – there was no further down to go from here. He was going down into the Crater, the very pit of hell because it was truly no longer any different than the rest of the world.

She reached out, put her hand over his – he was cold, and flinched, and her throat was dry and the words a whisper. "Why, then? Why do it at all?"

"Zack would have." Half a smile – and that was only from memories, looking back into what had been. "Just because I can't see the world for what it is, just because I can't remember doesn't mean I can't _remember_ – Zack would think it was worth saving. Aeris thought it was worth saving. Sephiroth – he wouldn't have wanted it like this, and I failed him. I failed all of them, right from the start – Aeris always knew I couldn't... I could have made it all right, but I still don't know how."

A voice from outside – quite distant, but Cloud flinched anyway, stood up, and Yuffie tried to ignore the voice that said she ought to slam the door shut and just pounce. Try to make him see he wasn't alone – try to distract him, if nothing more. He'd probably throw her through the outer hull before he ever realized it.

"Stay here. You don't have to go." Yuffie thought it would have sounded much more seductive, if she'd had a handful more years and at least one cup size. "Come on. It could be the last chance we'll get, to make everyone think the worst of us."

Aeris had been the one who could make him smile, though even that, he'd said, hadn't belonged to him. If Tifa had taken away that smile, and Aeris had taken away the reason, then Yuffie couldn't be seeing it – and yet, he smiled at her. A weary smile, but just for her, fading all too quickly as he turned back for the door.

Yuffie knew that look, and it made her insides knot up with the cold. The same look that she'd seen on her father's face, when he'd spoken of the war, of going to face Sephiroth.

The look of a man who expected to die, and welcomed it.

* * *

Yuffie dragged a hand across her face, not surprised when it came back nearly black, her eyes stinging as she tried to see through the smoke. The light was just starting to fade, though it would be a long-ass time before the end of the day.

ShinRa had hit the beach just before dawn, and though she'd been aware of the numbers beforehand there was a difference between having it on a piece of paper, and seeing the dark blanket of soldiers rushing up onto the sand. Wutai had the advantage of defending their home, of the desire to bring back what had been, the glory of their homeland. The advantage of having thrown ShinRa off the island only a short time ago – and of facing a enemy that was not the unstoppable force it had been.

Still a ShinRa operation, and though some of the clans had been optimistic, it was clear from the first wave that ShinRa had no intention of battling purely for show, making a token attempt to reclaim the island before pretending they never existed in the first place. Yuffie would have had a more difficult time believing that ShinRa wanted Wutai so badly had she not been in the middle of it, in Midgar, to see how twisted and precarious the center of power actually was.

The current explanation was that ShinRa wanted to poison Wutai, now that they'd run out of their own places to experiment on – but she thought the truth was even more terrible, really. It was all a matter of pride, of pretending at strength, no matter what the cost. ShinRa would sacrifice everything to keep that illusion in the world.

A loud cry broke her from her thoughts, the fighters on the opposite side of the plain from her position making another charge. Nothing risky, not just yet, keeping close cover while picking off any of ShinRa's troops who dared to lower their guard. ShinRa had hit the beach hard, and it had soon been clear that not giving up a position would cost them more men than it was worth. The clans had fallen back, still taking down more of ShinRa's men than they'd given up – but they'd reclaimed every base they'd attacked, a fact that had not pleased her father, or the other clan chiefs. An insult to their honor and pride, to have ShinRa at all established on the shores.

The fact that it had been Cloud's orders had not improved matters in Lord Godo's eyes. He'd relented, finally, when Yuffie had given her approval to Cloud's plans. For all the times she'd lied to her father in the past, he hadn't improved at catching her. Whatever his real strategies might be, Cloud kept them to himself.

He would come, she knew that, unquestioning faith. He would fight with them, would destroy these armies – unless he was hurt, or dead. Unless he'd gone to take down another reactor and ShinRa had gotten lucky, or Rufus had found some new way to attack, or he'd gone crazy again or maybe, just maybe she was wrong and Cloud's apparent suicide run was nothing but an actual suicide run, and he'd gotten tired of waiting for the world to improve enough to take him down.

Her chocobo hardly shifted, as ShinRa let loose with a volley from whatever materia-powered artillery they'd brought along, just reminding them that they had it, splintering a jagged hole in the tree line well away from their forces. Yuffie reached down anyway, patting the bird's neck with a soothing sound.

The ShinRa were too smart to push out to the jungle, knew they'd be taken apart, but with a wide, flat field between them and enough Materia at their disposal, a few of those weapons of Scarlet's even it wasn't worth it to attack.

The Highwind was out of the way, at least for now, though Yuffie hadn't learned what the cost was – if Cloud had killed its captain. Cid had been a bastard, and she'd liked him well enough for it. Hard to imagine he would have sided with Rufus, but hero was just a word, as easy to take up and discard as any other.

It wasn't simple, the way it had been, and even then it hadn't been simple.


	12. Chapter 12

The first thing Yuffie had done - after they'd destroyed Sephiroth and Jenova and the Meteor had nearly hit or maybe hit and just not killed them all yet and they'd crashed the Highwind but good - was to make sure she'd survived, and that everyone else had too. Assist the crew where she could, account for everyone she knew by name, and generally make sure nothing _else_ was about to explode in a ball of fiery carnage.

Fiery carnage was having a good run of it, really.

All her moderately helpful efforts had culminated in standing at the edge of one of the badly twisted lower decks, watching Barrett console a weeping Tifa – with Cloud nowhere in sight.

Tifa couldn't have been as surprised about it as she acted, holding back tears as she helped heal and cure everyone on the ship who wasn't too far gone, switching to bandages as the aftershocks of the Lifestream's power made all the Materia too unstable to risk using. Cid was doing his best to relay messages from the nearest towns, commandeering Cait Sith as a backup radio half the time.

Cloud was gone. He wasn't coming back.

So Yuffie had wasted little time on her second decision, going to the bridge, emptying what was left of the Materia safe, even though most of the good stuff was still equipped in various slots and Cid thought she hadn't tried to figure out the last combination he'd used, too busy worrying about the end of the world.

As if that would stop her.

Darting across the deck, she caught sight of Vincent, looking at her – and then off into the distance, toward the smoldering wreckage of Midgar. Yuffie didn't want to know what he was thinking, if he was thinking anything at all. He didn't stop her, didn't blink twice as she jumped ship, and if he didn't care Yuffie couldn't see why anyone else would protest.

In retrospect, it was clumsy and foolish and seven kinds of stupid to think she would succeed where Tifa had failed – or that Cloud would have wanted her to try, or she would have any idea what to say if she did manage to find him. It hadn't taken long, to figure out she couldn't – his tracks simply vanished, disappeared even with the wind nowhere near strong enough to erase them so completely.

Aeris' prayers may have saved the world, but the mass exodus from Midgar was anything but grateful, soldiers and refugees and chaos everywhere. Yuffie took advantage of it, finished robbing her friends blind by setting off for the chocobo ranch, walking away from there with few explanations and two breeding golds, a black, and a full bag of high-quality greens before Midgar had even stopped burning. She could see the smoke from it on the horizon. As far away from the city as they were, the birds were still skittish, wary, even though she cut a wide swath around it as she moved toward the shore, across the ocean, and finally came home.

Had Cloud gone back to Midgar, to help? To fight? To destroy what was left of the ShinRa? It seemed that everything Vincent had mused upon, all of it had probably been true. Yuffie had remembered the ex-Turk exchanging quiet words with Cloud in the north, just before they'd gone to the Crater, to finish things or to die trying. She wondered what they'd said, or if they'd done more than just talk.

Cloud didn't want to live. She knew that look too well to doubt it was what she'd seen. So maybe he hadn't, maybe he'd gone to make sure of it.

* * *

Wutai had gotten off light, compared to most of the rest of the world, all she had seen in her travels. It surprised no one, then, when ShinRa started leaning harder and harder on the island, to pay and supply the reconstruction of the mainland. More taxes, more demands, and it wasn't long before the cracks began to show in the hold they had over the country. Talk of revolution, though it was never more than a whisper, a suggestion instantly denied. Slowly building, though ShinRa had smashed through the country so thoroughly the first time that no one would be the first to say it aloud, to demand they take back what had always been theirs. Reclaim the pride of their country from a weakening grip.

The seasons turned. Spring was profoundly beautiful, as if the Planet itself wanted to give its thanks, and the first festival of the year was all the brighter for being the first after the Crisis – it had been given the name officially, before they'd even stopped digging bodies out of the Midgar rubble.

Yuffie walked through fields of flowers, and all of them reminded her of Aeris, and she wished she'd spoken to the flower girl once in a while. Wished she'd asked questions, learned even a little bit of how Aeris had seen the world. Reeve found her, just as the last of the snow had melted away into that spring. Happy to see her, if distant. Everyone else was fine. Cid hadn't been happy about the materia.

He didn't mention Cloud. Yuffie didn't ask.

At the peak of spring was the first festival, honoring the great god Leviathan, though all the festivals mentioned him in one way or another. Yuffie never took removed the small red orb from the bangle on her arm, but she hadn't summoned the massive creature since the Crisis, either. Not completely convinced that it truly was the essence of Wutai's god – but all things considered, it was probably in her interest not to annoy him unduly.

The first festival Yuffie had been to in a long time in the central city, even longer since she'd come as the daughter of Lord Godo, racing chocobos with the family crest on her back. There were glances, approving nods – Yuffie could pick out a few faces from the crowd, watching her with level, serious eyes. Lord Godo would not be the one to strike out first against the ShinRa, and no one would blame him, not after all he had struggled for, and lost – but his daughter was a different story, she was strong enough to lead them to war.

Yuffie knew what they thought – she had fought to save the world, had seen all that ShinRa was, knew them weaknesses and all. The heir to the throne, headstrong as her father had been in the old days, beautiful like her mother – that was _still_ crap, in Yuffie's opinion - but a pretty girl made for a better rallying point. If there was to be a rebellion, who better than her to lead it?

A few whistles and cheers, as Yuffie led her bird to the line. She raced more for its benefit than her own, the chocobo born and bred to race, whether she needed the money or not. The other birds looked fair enough, a decent mix of farm and racing stock, nothing she couldn't beat – and her black cooed in excitement, gurgling a little as she reached down to scratch the dark feathers. It wasn't quite fair, bringing a gold to a race like this – she'd take that one out later, when the stakes weren't quite as high and the competition didn't fight as clean.

It took a moment to realize the rider on her left was actually staring at her with a rather star-struck look in his eyes. She'd grown into herself a little, traveling around the world – but those sorts of looks were still hard to believe, no matter how loudly she might boast otherwise.

"Well, at least I know who I've got to beat."

If she'd had any less of a steady perch, Yuffie knew she would have been on the ground – it felt like falling, hearing that voice again, twisting in the saddle so sharply that her bird gave a wark of surprise.

Cloud on her right, the barest corner of a grin on his face, and she'd forgotten what warmth looked like in a gaze like his. The gold he was riding, his bird – Karat, they'd named it, back at the Gold Saucer – leaned out with a chirp of greeting, nuzzling beaks with the black, the two birds infinitely less nervous than she was about the reunion.

"W-what are you doing here?"

Smooth, Yuffie. Very smooth, but at least it was automatic, a reply – trying to think sure as hell wasn't helping any.

Cloud hadn't changed, as if he'd walked directly from the crash to here, as if no time had passed. The only thing missing was his sword – set aside for the race, obviously. He was even wearing the old uniform, and something inside of her twisted at the sight of it.

"I thought I'd stop by, see about winning a race or two." Of all of them, of all the time they'd spent together, he'd only ever teased her, she'd been the only one to see that particular teasing grin. Yuffie tried not to make too much out of it, so of course it was far too much to see it now. Cloud was here. Here with her. Yuffie finally managed to smirk back, tipping her chin up to stare down her nose at him, faking a prim disdain.

"Well, I suppose you're more than welcome to come in second."

* * *

If she'd been racing as easy as she'd intended, she wouldn't have won, but Yuffie cut off Cloud instead at the final turn. A move that was remarkably unsporting, even for her, but she was feeling ruthless and impatient and wanted to prove something to him, even if she wasn't quite sure what it was. It gained her a half-a-beaklength and a loud cheer that she barely heard, mostly glad the race was over, that she could look up and see Cloud and take a breath and blink and have him still there in front of her. It seemed he could vanish at any moment, and Yuffie didn't dare look away.

He didn't offer any explanations, no stories – but that hardly mattered. He'd sought her out, and no matter how stupid it was her heart was still doing lazy flip-flops, and it seemed every person noticed them now, as if they'd become players on some great stage. Of course they would, Cloud tended to stand out, even if he hadn't been carrying a sword nearly as big as she was, and wearing a ShinRa uniform. Yuffie could see the places it had been patched and worn through and patched again, felt a soft clutch of dread, like a friend's hand on her shoulder, whispering warnings she didn't want to hear or understand.

They talked about other places in the world, about the weather, and breeding chocobos. Anyone who didn't know better would have thought it unmemorable; calm, casual conversation. Yuffie kept her hands at her side, just in case they thought about fumbling or shaking, and wondered if Cloud could hear how hard her heart was beating.

He'd come to her. He was here, with her. If she forced herself not to think about the why, it was almost possible to enjoy the moment.

"Have you seen anyone else?"

The question she'd been trying not to ask, and by asking it himself, Cloud had given her the answer she was looking for – he hadn't. She was the first he'd sought out. Tifa - he'd come to her before he'd went to Tifa. Ninjas weren't supposed to care, to play this sort of romantic bullshit game, but Yuffie had never thought she was a particularly good ninja.

"Nanaki came to visit. Reeve has called, a few times – it's been difficult with..." She trailed off, waving as they passed a ShinRa outpost, a fresh coat of bright paint making it stand out all the more, utterly foreign against its surroundings. "He said that everyone was doing all right. He... you haven't gone back to Midgar, since they've started the reconstruction."

"I hear it's going very well." Cloud said, with a funny little smile that wasn't a smile at all. "ShinRa has started up the Mako reactors. All of them that they can, and more to come."

Yuffie gasped, though there was no reason for it, no reason not to believe ShinRa wouldn't go on doing as it had been doing, even after everything that had happened, even with everything they _knew_. Still, Yuffie hardly considered herself to be a paragon of sense or logic, or dignity, or respect, or morality – but there were some powers even she was hesitant to fuck with.

"He didn't tell me that. You know Wutai would never do anything against the Planet, Cloud. I... I know that Aeris..." It was a mistake to mention her name, like dropping a hand-grenade in the middle of the conversation but she refused to look up and look at him and it was still a struggle to get to the other end of the sentence. "It isn't right, after what she did. It isn't right."

Cloud didn't answer her. The silence was all-consuming, and by the time she looked up it was difficult to tell that either one of them had said anything at all.

* * *

So maybe going to the local dive wasn't the classiest thing she could think to do, not that Yuffie was doing much thinking at all, but she could manage better with a drink in her hand and at least two in her belly and what the hell good would talking do anyway? Nothing to say to Cloud that didn't seem painfully juvenile or besides the point – and what was the point? Why had he come here?

Cloud flinched sharply, a few steps behind her, and his gaze seemed turned strangely inward for a moment. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and the gesture was familiar enough to make her insides knot again – but it didn't last more than that moment, and he still seemed to be himself when it was all over, and she wasn't going to ask.

Gods, let it be over. If there was to be no reward, at least spare him more pain.

The bar was packed, mostly locals save for a pack of ShinRa soldiers occupying some of the best seats; loud and obnoxious and exactly what Yuffie had come to expect from anyone who knew where they sat, protected in the corporation's long shadow.

A gesture came from the other side of the room, as Yuffie was trying to find a place worth standing in – and it was all she could do not to turn and walk out.

For all she was aware of, Yuffie had maintained her neutrality so far, refusing to throw herself in with any plan or group. Still, she hadn't been able to lie – everyone knew her interests, her beliefs – knew it was only a matter of convincing her. Damn it, all she needed now was for Cloud to think she'd brought him here to this, to win another war that had nothing to do with him. Yuffie glanced over her shoulder, but the path to the door had vanished in their wake, and she couldn't be sure they wouldn't just follow her if she walked back out.

The Crow clan had been all but driven into extinction during the first Wutai war, an ugly series of battles that had eaten them alive. Now, Yuffie had noticed at least one of them with every group she'd spoken to, the few that remained determined to reclaim the honor lost to them on the battlefield. The man before her now was their current leader, and with him two of the highest ranking members of the Turtle and Crane clans – one the most powerful, the other the most wealthy. Each of them with the strongest ties to ShinRa – if _they_ were here to discuss revolution, things had certainly reached a peak. If they were here to try and trap her, Yuffie was fairly certain she could count on Cloud to surprise them.

"My lady." The Crow leader nodded to her as she sat down, speaking in Wutainese. It didn't matter how loud they were, the sound barely carried enough for them to hear each other, and the ShinRa at the bar were hardly a danger. Only handful of them had ever bothered learning the language anyway – all of the decent spies in the last war had come straight from the clans, everyone knew that.

Yuffie glanced over, watching one of the waitresses arguing quietly with a very drunk soldier, trying to push his hands away while still being polite, still keeping her voice low. Trying not to cause trouble.

After everything that had happened, after all their failures, ShinRa _still_ believed they owned the world. Yuffie looked back to see the three men staring closely at Cloud, taking in the uniform and the glowing eyes and the fact that she had come in with him. Cloud barely seemed to notice – but Yuffie supposed the attentions of men meant little, after fighting with gods.

"It's all right. He's not one of them."

Not anyone's, though Yuffie had wondered now and again if anyone else bothered to remember he hadn't been fighting for ShinRa's benefit. Reeve had seemed baffled that he'd gone, that he'd disappeared. Yuffie pitied him a little, nice enough – she couldn't imagine how he'd survived in the company, or why Rufus ShinRa would have continued to let him live.

The men were still nervous. Yuffie grimaced, not needing their hesitation – not needing this, with so much of her concentration on Cloud.

"He saved the world once. This is Cloud Strife."

A little more respect from them now – and wariness, for a different reason, glancing at the sword he'd rested beside him in the booth. Yuffie wondered what Cloud thought of it. He'd been bullied, Tifa had told them all about the past – and he was still slight and lean – only that ungodly glow spoke to his true potential.

"A pleasure." Cloud said, his accent strange even for just the two words, neither native or anything like the way he normally spoke – but he knew Wutainese, and that was enough to disarm the situation, at least for the moment. One of them raised a hand, gesturing toward the nearest barmaid. The girl at the bar was still fending off advances, the drunken soldier groping at her every time she came near.

Shots. More shots. Beer. Yuffie remembered the first time she'd drained a can in front of Cid – not that Midgar beer had been worth drinking, but the expression on his face had been amusing. Cloud threw them back without comment, probably just to fit in – Yuffie remembered he'd said it didn't affect him, not with... what they'd done. She'd offered to prove it for certain, with some of her father's finer sake – and Cloud hadn't said anything then, but here he was.

_Just keep repeating it. Maybe it will mean something._

"You know, they want to put in a new reactor. Here. Here in Wutai."

Everyone downed a shot to toast the unbelievable. Yuffie had heard it before, and if it was a surprise to Cloud he didn't react. Amazing, really, that ShinRa hadn't tried it before. They'd had enough energy at the time, with the reactors everywhere else – but what did that matter? As if anything was ever enough for the company.

"Not just that," the Crow leader said, leaning forward a little. "ShinRa's making plans to ship civilians here from Midgar. Refugees given our land, because they can't take care of their own."

Vicious cursing all around the table, and Yuffie couldn't help but join in. It wasn't hatred, not for all the people she'd watched pouring out of Midgar, afraid and confused and completely helpless against the power ShinRa had wielded so thoughtlessly. The people in the slums, Marlene and Barrett, good people – but loading them into another country was not the answer, and it was stupid and short-sighted enough that it seemed exactly what ShinRa would do. People would get hurt, and once again it wouldn't be the right people.

"They fucked up their own land, and now they want ours."

Yuffie knew it would be the last demand, the final, idiotic step ShinRa would take, right off the cliff. It didn't even matter if it was real, if it was a solid plan or nothing more than a possibility tossed off in some meeting. It held the hint of truth, the reality of Wutai's position as the one place ShinRa had not completely overrun – not yet.

A shout, from the bar, one of the soldiers insulting everyone in line-of-sight, demanding another round. More eyes had turned in their direction, keeping track, keeping score, though the mass of idiots were too drunk and stupid to realize anything had changed. Just like the rest of ShinRa, so damned complacent, so desperate to re-establish power with Wutai resources they didn't notice the cracks in their foundations.

"You want to regain control of Wutai. Take back your sovereignty?"

Cloud had not raised his voice, his tone flat and almost disinterested, but the silence was absolute. Yuffie glanced over, watched the men shift nervously, newly suspicious of a ShinRa-clad SOLDIER who didn't bother feigning any sort of ignorance. The Crow clan chief studied him carefully, though Yuffie couldn't imagine he got much more out of it than anyone else.

"Yes. That is what we want."

Cloud smiled. Yuffie wondered what it looked like when it wasn't terrifying.

"I can do that for you. Right now. It will start right now."

A charge in the air, like standing dead center in the middle of a Mako reactor, or holding a good hand in a particularly choice game of cards when everyone was armed. It had been like this, in those last few battles, when every breath had been meaningful. No one moved.

Maybe she could have stopped him. Maybe she should have. Yuffie held the moment, watched it pass. The Crow leader nodded, the barest movement.

"Do it."

Yuffie never knew if he had really meant it, if he'd understood what he had said, what the glow in Cloud's eyes meant, or if he had considered it merely an amusing possibility. She didn't know why she'd stayed silent, when Cloud had glanced at her, and she'd slid out of the seat to allow him to pass, leaving his sword where it was. Yuffie remembered wanting to take his sleeve, to stop him, though it wouldn't have changed anything and she wasn't sure she would have wanted it to.

Cloud moved slowly through the crowd, to where one of the soldiers was back to bothering the barmaid, dragging her into his arms and making no notice of her attempts to get away. A pig, and just enough alcohol in him to give his snarling annoyance a real edge, and Yuffie made out the tail end of "-stupid bitch, fucking Wutai whore," as Cloud stepped up and pulled her out of his arms.

It was graceful, almost like dancing, one simple fluid move, and before any of them had realized what had happened Cloud had put the girl behind him, looking down at the table without a hint of impatience or even anger. The soldier recovered quickly, drunk as he was.

"The fuck's your problem, you fuck?" The man stood up. Taller than Cloud by several inches. The bar went dead silent, everyone watching, tense, ready for anything. The soldier noticed none of it, didn't even notice Cloud, not the way he should have.

"Leave. Leave the bar, and leave Wutai."

"Who the fuck are you to tell me _shit_, little man?" He shoved Cloud, one hand, and stared confused as Cloud didn't move. The other soldiers at the table were starting to notice the attention on them, murmuring to their friend, shifting in their chairs. Yuffie could see a few of them reaching for what had to be weapons – could see a few in the crowd doing the same. The bartender was pulling his better bottles down slowly from the shelves behind the bar.

"Fuck him up! Fucking prick!"

One of the other soldiers, giving his friend unnecessary encouragement. Not all the men at the table seemed equally enthusiastic.

"Hey, man... SOLDIER? Check out the eyes."

"SOLDIER?" The whisper carried, even into the crowd, though the man facing Cloud didn't seem to hear.

"No... aren't any. Not anymore."

"... the fuck is he then?"

Murmured scraps of fast conversation around the table, none of it registering to the drunken man still glowering down at Cloud. Yuffie wondered if it had all been no more than rumor, who had saved the world and why. The official ShinRa story had probably been a dashed-off memo, or one of those sticky notes in the middle of Reeve's to-do list. It was getting easier for her to hate innocuous people.

Cloud blinked, his voice toneless. "Leave Wutai now, or I'll kill you, and your friends, and every soldier on the island."

Yuffie saw the gun too late, the barrel pressed against Cloud's forehead and the dumbfuck drunk SOLDIER grinning and Yuffie wondered if the bastard had done this before - other fights, other bodies turning up with bullets that never matched to a gun. Damn ShinRa, damn them. The other soldiers were on their feet now, most of them trying to shout the man down, noticing the attention from the rest of the bar – and Yuffie had a kunai in her hand and was cursing herself for not being armed to the teeth, for not thinking it could come to this when it always came to this, Wutai a powder keg just waiting for a spark.

... but Cloud had known that. He'd asked permission to light it.

"Why don't you suck my _dick_, little man! Get the fuck out of my face before I fucking waste you and all your friends!"

Cloud paused, for a long enough moment that Yuffie thought he might be offering him one last opportunity. Giving all of ShinRa one final chance.

She didn't blink, and she still missed it.

The gun was out of the man's hand, and by the time he had the chance to look surprised he was already dead, Cloud bringing the butt of the gun around, cracking him hard enough in the temple that it might as well have been a gunshot. The other soldiers were moving now, drawing weapons, but it was far too late to do any good. The chaos barely had a chance to start before it was over, people running and ducking but Cloud had already snapped the neck of the second, slamming a bottle into the bar with his free hand, blood dripping down his arm as it splintered messily, but what remained was still jagged sharp and driving up into the third soldier's eye. A shattering blow to the throat sent down the fourth, dead before he knew how it had happened.

All of them dead before they hit the ground, before they realized it or could fire a shot, the crunch and snap of bone, muffled curses and breathing and half-hearted cries of fear – awkward, an ungainly way to die even though he had taken them all down in under a minute and the final soldier was staring at him with wide eyes, Cloud's holding him by the throat, and all he had to do was tense his hand.

"It's over. It's done. Tell ShinRa exactly what happened here. Tell them all to get off the island. Tell them I'm coming."

Cloud let him go. The boy took two steps back, and ran with demons at his heels, any sound of his departure drowned out by the sudden rising cheers, the shouts, the realization of what had just happened.

Yuffie had her hands around Cloud's before she could think, before she remembered it might be unwise to surprise a man who'd just killed a table full of people – and she turned his palm over carefully, remembering too late that there was no need to worry, no wound remaining beneath the blood.

"It's all right." Cloud said softly, breath stirring her hair. "I didn't even feel it."

* * *

One week from that day, to gain enough support, to drive the ShinRa out of Wutai. One week to reverse a reality she and much of the island had known since childhood. All the old clan symbols had been outlawed, but the shapes were eternal and always had been, and it took no time at all to see handmade banners in the streets, young men and women rallying around the great stories of the past, glory and honor and Wutai's valor.

At least half of it was total crap, of course. Yuffie knew full well half the reason ShinRa had managed to take the country at all was how easy it was to play one side off the other – but now it seemed as if there was a true common order, united against ShinRa as the greater enemy – all of them rallying around that definitive victory.

Rallying around Cloud. The symbol of ShinRa's hubris, the downfall of their pride. Most believed he was nothing less than a demon of vengeance, and half the time Yuffie would have believed it herself if she hadn't known the truth – and even then, it was difficult to remember there had ever been a quiet moment and a kiss and a boy – strip away the SOLDIER and what was left was not what a the man, but something much more fragile, forever frozen in a sharp fragment, the barest hint of what might have been.

Cloud had been there for every fight, every rebellion, every time the ShinRa refused to leave, and he had done nothing less than he had promised. Yuffie had seen him kill soldiers during the Crisis, when they'd had to fight their way through damn near everything, just to save the Planet from itself. He had been careful, determined but never brutal – not at all vengeful, not like this. Not taking his time, not making every death count. Every soldier was the one who had killed his friend, every one of them was punished accordingly.

"I used to be one." He'd said to her, with the gore up to his elbows and another ShinRa base up in flames. "Trust me, I would have deserved it too."

Every soldier as himself. The cold in him now was a tangible force, even worse than it had been at the Crater, before - as if everything but now had been discarded, unnecessary. No wonder Cloud hadn't contacted anyone. More amazing that he remembered any of them at all.

Lord Godo had not been happy, despite the string of absolute victories. Angered at the timing, at the sudden, island-wide commitment from subdued outrage to full-out rebellion. Angered at Cloud's presence, at the air of mystery that surrounded him, the increasingly grandiose terms used to describe a man that, at the end of the day, was still a foreign soldier with no reason to be trusted. Godo had been worried about Cloud's commitment, certainly about his sanity, but with every base fallen, every story of Cloud, there was less reason to stop him, less possibility he could be stopped. The suggestion that he could be in two places at once, that he had taken down bases by himself from the inside out, killing every soldier on his way through. The rumors awed the clans as much as they frightened the ShinRa, and even without rumor or story, Cloud continued winning, gaining more support and strengthening the clans by the hour. The whispers, the stories told at night – ShinRa had done wrong by the gods, by its SOLDIERS, and now they would know what it was to fear.

Godo's final protest, of course, was Yuffie's insistence on staying at Cloud's side, but that was her fault, not Cloud's, and she solved the problem the same way she always had – by ignoring him. Her father would have been gratified, perhaps, to know how difficult it was to even _find_ Cloud much of the time. Often, she would arrive at the aftermath of a battle to find herself at the start of another search, Cloud moving like the wind; it was said the spirits guided him and Yuffie did not doubt it.

Did not doubt, but did not truly understand, until the end of a battle in the Turtle clan lands, the ShinRa so frightened that they had nearly broken their own defenses themselves, scurrying for shelter, retreating with Wutai fast at their heels. Yuffie had finally seen Cloud, for the first time in nearly two weeks, and likely then only because he was curled against the far wall of the shattered complex, all the roar of battle well behind them, and once again she was with him without thinking, hands on his shoulders, forgetting he could kill her on reflex alone – but this time he didn't look up, didn't tell her he was fine, untouched, invincible.

"Cloud..."

"Nobody's dead." He whispered, his eyes only half-focused, still in that other world. Gazing across the battlefield, the splayed bodies all around them, seeing a world she could not. The shamans said he was holy. The warriors said he was a demon. Cloud was soaked in sweat, already dripping down, mixing pink where it hit the dried blood. He was shaking, just slightly, with exertion, and Yuffie tightened her grip.

"Nobody ever dies. They just leave. They leave and I watch them go."

"Cloud?" Yuffie couldn't see a wound, any reason he was hunched over so, and after a moment with a hand on his shoulder and another pressed against his, over his abdomen, he looked up, his eyes focusing on her face, burning so bright it was hard to believe he could see.

"... Yuffie. You shouldn't... I can't..."

The spirits guided him, of course. She learned later how deeply the Lifestream had him in its power, how when they hurt he was punished as well. Every time ShinRa sank a new reactor, or pulled for a surplus or a shortage or just to test some new piece of equipment, he knew it. Every time, the Planet screamed and Cloud screamed along with them.

... and even that wasn't the reason for this war, not the real reason he had come to them, had driven ShinRa out of Wutai. He wouldn't tell her, didn't tell her anything, and Yuffie didn't ask. Didn't need to know what he wanted or needed to know what she would do.

She knew what it all meant, even then, even before it meant laying with Cloud pressing down into her, and trying to hold on to him, futile but trying anyway. Feeling his hands moving over her body like a blind man, knowing he was searching for other memories, other places, other people.

What it meant, washing his back, one of those intimate wifely duties Yuffie swore she'd rather stab herself than ever submit to – until it was him, and being gentle with him was nothing like submission. Until her eyes found the scar, low on his back, wide as two fingers together, curved like a pale flower petal.

His love, already given and done and gone, a whole life burned clean through, and yet he still lived and moved in their world and Yuffie knew, her heart knew and she still didn't give a damn.

... and so it was, that very first time, when they'd stood on the shore of the first night afterward, with Wutai returned to its glory and her father on the throne and everything starting from that moment, all that was to be. Cloud looked out to the horizon and didn't move, even when she stepped up beside him. She wondered if he'd meant to talk to her, or if he just didn't have a place to be at this particular moment.

"It won't stop. Now it goes on, right until the end." His voice was so soft, Yuffie couldn't hear any emotion in the words. "I can only imagine how they'll hate me now."

She'd kissed him once, and then she'd been stupid and the world was ending and everyone had been shouting. It was quiet now, just the sound of the sea against the shore. The thought that her opinion of him could mean anything at all.

Yuffie reached out, a fraction of an inch, until her hand was curled loosely around his. He still didn't look at her, but he didn't pull away.

"You should hate me too, Yuffie. For all the same reasons. I should have made you-"

Yuffie snorted. "It wouldn't have worked, even if you'd tried. I'm a better liar than you are."

Cloud looked at her then, wide-eyed and astonished, and in the dark the few hard edges he had were softened in the pale glow of his eyes, and she remembered what she'd heard. The things Vincent had said, that Tifa had said – Cloud had been as young as she was during the Crisis, when Hojo had taken him. Maybe the last moments of a life he could truly call his own.

Alone, he was alone, and for all they'd wanted from him and demanded from him and needed, no one had ever simply reached out. Tried to bridge that distance, even for an imperfect moment. Cloud must have seen the thought on her face, she could see the flicker of panic in his eyes. He tried to let go of her hand – and froze, when she didn't let him. Afraid, maybe, that he might hurt her. Afraid of her – maybe that too.

"No, Yuffie. You don't - I can't. I... I kill everything. I kill _everyone_, and I can't stop it. I can't." He laughed, a painful, panicked whine like an animal in a trap. "I don't even know what I've lost until I remember losing it."

Yuffie leaned forward and kissed him, long and deep enough to prove she wasn't impressed with the argument. He was warm under her hands, and so strong, and she wondered, really, if she'd ever even been alive before this moment.

"So don't love me."

* * *

"Lady Kisaragi."

The sky was darkening, streaks of orange and red in the clouds. Yuffie could hear the cannons roaring into the forest on the other side of the fortress. The assault was doing damage, but it wasn't enough – and it seemed now they might not take it back until morning, if not later. Every moment was a victory for the ShinRa. Giving them hope, the confidence to take back what they had lost. Yuffie wondered if she could sneak in alone, what sort of damage she could do. Insane, reckless – damn but she'd loved being immature and careless.

"We've word from a messenger, Lady. We've recaptured the southern encampment. I can't imagine – it seems impossible, so soon-"

Cloud. Moving his way up the coast, from wherever he had been. Letting ShinRa get too far in to get back out again, before making his move. He would strike at nightfall, because he could – because he could see where no other soldier could, and by the time they noticed the glow of his eyes it would be too late to do anything but die. Yuffie watched the final glow fade from the sky, all the burning hues dimming to violet, dark blue fading to black.

"Get ready to charge on the signal."

"Signal, lady?"

Yuffie grinned, spurred her bird around, didn't bother answering. The signal would be unmistakable, the same as it was every other time Cloud had attacked a fortress or camp. Screaming, panic – he never stopped, never slowed or hesitated – and the gods only knew when he'd last slept or eaten. What he'd done in Midgar before he left, how much had been reduced to ruin.

Most believed he moved with the wind, appearing at will. Yuffie had calculated the distances in her mind, how much one man could do if everything else was sacrificed and even if it was magic, that power came from the Lifestream, and it came with a heavy price.

Using him - Yuffie was well aware Wutai was using him just as equally as he was using them. Using him just like she swore she never would, and trying to pretend that her love somehow tipped the scales in honor's defense. Pretending it might be enough, that if she did it right, held her breath and balanced and walked the wire, he might stay, a handful of sand in her loose grip, when she wanted to hold on so tightly. Some days, it wasn't as easy to hate Tifa as others.

Yuffie wasn't sure what the signal would be – but the enormous fireball that came from the left battery, smashing through a significant portion of the wall, left little doubt. She didn't need to see him now to know what was happening, had witnessed it enough to see it in her mind's eye. The flat of Cloud's blade glowing near-golden in the firelight, the only part of him that would be at all visible, the rest moving too quickly to be more than a blur of yellow or blazing blue. Soldiers falling around him so fast it seemed he'd only knocked them down, though the ground would be painted red at the end of the night, most of the bodies nearly split in two.

Yuffie raised Conformer high and urged her bird forward. She could hear the war cries behind her, could see men already racing across the field, no one manning the guns to push them back – and they would win this _tonight_, and in the morning Rufus ShinRa would wake and know it, that there was no ground here for him to reclaim.

One day closer to the end, Leviathan help them all.

* * *

Time had stopped inside the tiny room, the whir of a fan and the slight smell of plastic, the flickering fluorescent light – so terribly normal, so mundane. Sephiroth had been in this room a thousand times before, all those places that were the same place, following the same orders into infinity. He'd loathed them all, loathed so much of what he'd lived, and deep down, at the heart of it all, it must have always been there.

She must have always been there. Jenova. Always there and waiting. Everything he had done, every promise he had made himself, all of it to no consequence. Taken him so easily in that tiny, frozen mountain town, tore him apart and dragged him under. Crushing, all-consuming and he knew the Mako Crush was the inevitable end, even for ShinRa's best, but god they'd never told him how _good_ it would feel. All doubt gone, regret a word unlearned – he had been what he'd always feared he would become, and it had been so gloriously right.

Vindication for every petty, nasty, ugly day he'd had to drag himself through, isolation and frustration and in the end it had taken nothing but a sympathetic lie, the siren song of a monster agreeing with all his darkest, most vicious thoughts – that the world deserved to be beneath him, that of course, he had always been a god.

He'd spent his entire life dreading the day he would fail, obsessing over how it would come, and in the end all it had taken was a voice telling him what he'd wanted to hear.

"You shouldn't have risked bringing me back. Showing me all this." As if he was capable of anything except, perhaps, digging a hole and burying himself there. Drowning himself in the sea, if he thought it would last.

He'd killed Zack, gutted the boy – tried to, at least. God, and there had been such satisfaction in it. The triumphant feeling of abandoning guilt, pretending at greater virtue – playing, like a child. Kicking over sandcastles as Jenova had applauded.

Zack hadn't died, though, not there, not in Nibelheim. Zack, who would have followed him down, maybe even to such an end, cracking jokes all the way.

The flower girl had his sword, the one he'd run her through with. He had been pleased at that, too. Sephiroth didn't want to look at it now, knew what she wanted, what he would have to do. If he didn't move, didn't look, then he wouldn't have to do it.

He remembered the first time he'd touched the Masamune. Knew then what his life would become. So certain he knew what evil looked like, raised by Hojo. The price he would pay - and he hadn't had a clue.

She had folded without a sound. Cloud had screamed for her. Aeris. Her name was Aeris, the last child of the last true Ancient.

A perfect memory was a terrible thing for a soldier. He could still close his eyes, and draw out the pattern on the Lady Kisaragi's kimono, the night that he had ended the war, well before the war had ended. The first death he had no right to rest on ShinRa's shoulders, choosing expedience over honor – a sin all his own. He didn't even remember killing this girl, and he remembered it.

"If I can't be swept from the board, then I must be managed, somehow."

Jenova's child, which was as true as it wasn't and didn't matter anyway, none of this mattered except for the sword still in her hands, still waiting for him. Forgiveness in her gaze, absolution a terrible judgment all its own. He shut his eyes so he didn't have to accept it, but the memories were waiting for him, everything she'd given him, his past.

The group of them, the girl from Wutai – the dead woman's child – and the one from Nibelheim – he'd killed her father too. Others, no one he recognized, though no doubt he'd left his mark there too.

_"You know, Seph, if you wanted to make everyone hate you, there's easier ways than trying to destroy the Planet. _He could almost hear Zack chiding him._ "If you put your mind to it, I bet you could have five sectors loathing you utterly before lunchtime."_

Zack had died on a hilltop outside Midgar. Flayed with bullets. Cold and wet and alone, with raindrops in his open eyes.

"Don't forgive me. Don't ever forgive me for what I did to him."

Or the boy. For Cloud, the real reason they were here now. Zack was gone but the boy remained, the one Hojo had broken for a reason, and then broken for fun when the reason proved impossible. The boy who'd killed Sephiroth anyway, with a sword that had dwarfed him, even though he'd carried it with a warrior's grace. A borrowed grace – he remembered that first stroke, knew it for what it was, and who such a devastating move had belonged to. No way Zack could have taught it to the boy, not with the both of them stuck underground. No idea, what Hojo must have done.

Oh, Zack.

Aeris had given up her life for Cloud. Had been martyr to the world, but had loved him best of all. Enough to fight for him, enough to bring Sephiroth here, to give him a purpose – to ask. Maybe to beg. The Lifestream had brought him here to kill the boy – she had brought Sephiroth here to protect him. He could feel it, the same selfless power she must have used to call forth Holy, knowing all the while what would come of it – a wish to make things right. The sword, a promise he could make. Some small absolution.

"Or do you want me to put him out of his misery, more quickly than the Lifestream desires? Has he gone so far, that even you can't help him?"

The two of them forever locked in this, a fight destined to lose all meaning or purpose.

Aeris looked away, bit her lip. Refused to let him see her eyes.

Sephiroth reached out, lifted the sword, her hands gone hazy and green the moment the steel was away. It hurt to realize how much better it felt, having the weapon in his hands again.

"It was my doing, whether he is man or monster or whatever was made of him. If Cloud wants to kill me – again, I'll likely let him. If it will bring him any peace, he can destroy me as many times as he likes. Whatever he wants from me, I will do what I can for him."

Sephiroth glanced up, expecting her disappointment, startled to find Aeris smiling - a strange, sad, sweet smile as she faded into nothing, and then she was gone, and he was alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Cloud came to Vincent before anyone else, nearly a year before he'd destroyed his first reactor, well before Wutai had declared its war. Only later, did Vincent realize Cloud had been working backwards, taking care of his most dangerous opponents first, warning them.

Anything else Vincent wanted to believe, why Cloud would have chosen him, was likely nothing but his own conceit.

He assumed his sins in a past life must have been truly beyond the pale – a corporate lawyer, maybe, or a telemarketer. It would explain why all of his relationships involved gunfire.

Vincent looked down at the place Cloud had shot him – blood trickling from the shoulder of his human arm, doing little more than staining his cloak a slightly darker color than it was already. Nothing too damaging, for anyone else a dangerous shock, a long recovery. For what he was now, what Cloud was, it was mostly punctuation.

Cloud tossed the gun carelessly over the side of the building, and Vincent saw the flash of materia as it fell. Heard the car explode, fifty stories below them at street level, reverberating against the buildings, metal quivering under his feet as the echoes climbed, though it had taken a far greater power than that to make Midgar truly shudder.

Rufus had asked him to perform this particular assassination, one of a few competitors for the ShinRa throne. Rufus had asked him to be discreet.

Cloud's outline wavered slightly, as the smoke and the heat began to rise. Death Penalty was on the ground, Vincent had dropped it after he'd been shot, once he'd seen who was responsible. Cloud hadn't asked him to, hadn't said anything, but Vincent had less than zero interest in facing this conversation armed, no matter the consequences.

"It's good to see you, Cloud."

So little between them, for how much there should have been, especially after the Crisis, with only two of them left who knew, who remembered what Nibelheim had been. Vincent couldn't tell if Cloud wanted to remember, if he wanted to think about anything that had happened. Responsibility, accountability – they were only words that had meaning when the world felt like playing along.

Cloud pretended to study him, with eyes that were hollow but hardly dead, and Vincent knew then that nothing much had changed. Still taking in whatever the world threw at him, still feeling everything. Vincent would have taken that from him, if he'd known how.

"Hojo's dead." He said, his voice crisp and as emotionless as Cloud could ever manage, which seemed to unnerve the others but didn't mean much to a former Turk. "Hojo's dead and Sephiroth is dead, so I can't help but wonder what your dog is in the fight, Vincent. Working for the enemy – couldn't find anything else to do?"

It was not without some sting, but Vincent had never been much for putting idealism before reality, even here and now.

"The man you just killed had ties to every syndicate that wasn't smashed flat by the Crisis. He would have turned Midgar into his own private kingdom."

"Instead of the bastion of open government we've all come to know and love." Cloud said dryly, but there wasn't much venom in it. He sounded grim and weary, as if he was only having this conversation because he couldn't avoid it. "The devil you know. I never thought you were stupid enough to be an idealist, Vincent."

"Rufus is not his father. He knows this as well as anyone."

Cloud smiled. A sneer that didn't really fit him at all.

"Lucrecia never knew, did she? She thought you were a Turk, that a Turk could protect her from anything. But you were weak, and you failed her."

Well, that was certainly not what he had expected. Any lingering pain from those words was instantly blunted by the fact that Cloud was the messenger, and Vincent took the moment he was sure he expected to use in rage to study the man before him. Cloud was thin. He was sick. The raw Mako burn in his eyes maybe the only thing holding him together.

Vincent didn't flatter himself, the only reason Cloud and he had been anything but strangers – likely the reason this was happening at all - was the man Cloud saw in him, a ghost so solid, unspoken and yet present. Sephiroth was more real in these silences, more alive than the creature they had fought could ever be.

The closer Cloud got to Vincent, the closer he could get to what he had lost. Only phantoms in the dark, barely even memories – but Vincent knew too well how that could be enough.

"You look tired, Cloud."

He had the momentary amusement of realizing he'd returned the shock, Cloud staring at him in confusion. Vincent dropped his hand from where it had been pressed against his shoulder, the blood already stopped, the wound now a dull ache, rapidly fading.

The rumors had always put Cloud in Wutai, almost from the moment he'd left, and Rufus had been concerned from the start. Vincent hadn't gone after Cloud, though it had hardly been beyond his power. No one had asked him to do it, and so he hadn't. The same casual disregard that had cost him the lives of everyone he'd cared for. It couldn't be that way with Cloud, he couldn't let it.

"You want me to get angry. It's the only reason you're here. You can't threaten me – kill me, perhaps, but you would have done that by now. You want me to hate you. Why?"

Fear, and anger in the brilliant blue eyes. Cloud had expected to upset his balance, have him react without thinking – why? What was it he didn't want Vincent to know? Cloud took a step back, up onto the edge of the building. Vincent could hear the sound of sirens below, police and fire crews already on their way. Paid not to notice him, Vincent and the rest of the Turks utterly invisible, even with a mess like this, though Rufus would certainly not be happy. He could see small, orange highlights in the edge of Cloud's glowing eyes, from the blaze raging below.

"Were you ever afraid of the dark, Vincent?"

He'd been around long enough to know the difference between insanity and simple dramatics, even before Hojo, even before the end of his life. He'd been through enough to know better than to get involved, even before Lucrecia, and yet there was no solving it.

"No." He said gently. "But I think you might have been."

It had been Cloud - from the very first moment he'd woke, the reason he had come back to the world. Blue eyes that had met his from the moment of his awakening, accused him without even knowing it. The unpleasant truth Vincent had to face, that accepting Hojo's punishment as his due, locking himself away from the world had saved no one and nothing.

Cloud smiled, gazing away, small and wistful and half-mad, full of enough rage that Vincent could imagine him about to split in two. A rage that could shatter the Planet itself.

"I don't remember."

A child. God, Hojo, what had you done?

A different smile, when Cloud met his eyes again. Acknowledgement of common truths, a brotherhood – ironically – of memory, when Cloud could _be_ the man he remembered better than he could reflect on him, and Vincent had taken the easy route and just slept through it all.

"I never should have let you out of that damn coffin."

* * *

It had been easy to get close to Cloud, in what could have been the final days, with Meteor hanging in the sky, when time was short and consequences a word without meaning. Or, more importantly, when Vincent was nearly a stranger and Cloud had said next to nothing to them for nearly a week.

He could appreciate the irony of Tifa's position – they had likely never been closer than when Cloud could remember nothing of their time together, nothing of his life in Nibelheim. The more Tifa had reminded him of who she was, the less he'd wanted to know her. Brutal, but Vincent was used to that, and what he did or did not do would make no difference. He was used to that as well.

Cloud had laughed, the first moment after their first kiss, twisted away as if he might run and Vincent had stepped back to let him go – but he hadn't, only sighed, a strange long exhale, and Vincent knew enough to know he wasn't simply staring into space.

"You know, at this rate Barrett and Cid will be fighting over who gets to kiss me last. Unless Nanaki draws the long straw."

Yuffie, obviously, had beaten him to this particular punch. The ninja girl had been in Cloud's orbit every moment she could manage it, though he didn't think any of the others had noticed, her interest not the usual sort, the kind of thing easily overlooked by anyone without the time to notice. It was strange, Vincent's place here, his reason for staying – the rest of them had homes of some kind, family – at the very least, their own well-being at heart. Vincent considered the possibility of following the whole thing down, of letting whatever happened in the Crater take him with it.

Cloud felt the same, or close enough that they'd ended here, together, after a long day – an endless day in Icicle Inn – in a room that was his only because he'd needed somewhere to sleep, though Cid still thought Vincent slept in a box in the storage room when no one was looking.

It would have been awkward, if any of this was anything like normal. Cloud didn't say much, didn't make much of a noise of any kind, the slightest sound here and there, the shift in his breathing all that Vincent had to work with. Silent, but hardly alone – so many ghosts in the room with them it was hard to keep his thoughts focused. Cloud's skin was smooth and soft beneath his hands – SOLDIERS were never over-muscular, didn't have to be, and he couldn't help but count it out in his head.

The year or so Cloud would have lied about, to get into ShinRa as fast as he could. The five years he'd spent – five years – in Hojo's mad dream, and the year or so after, on the run. Not a lot of time, then, to spend with anyone, not-

He was Cloud's first, Vincent was sure of it, and the jolt of realization was electric and not at all pleasant and god, god if only to be a Turk again for the sheer, stupid simplicity of it, where he wouldn't have hesitated, wouldn't have thought anything of it beyond his own luck.

He drew away, as far as he could, Cloud's features softened in the glow of his eyes, to an age that made Vincent's heart lurch.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Cloud laughed, and it wasn't his laugh and he reached up and pulled Vincent down, crushing their mouths together and Vincent felt him jerk slightly, metal arm accidentally cutting into Cloud's skin, but he didn't get a chance to think about it and it was clear Cloud didn't care and... it didn't get any easier, or any more comfortable. A bit warmer, skin-to-skin, but Vincent knew he was with a stranger as much as a boy and a man and someone waiting, just killing time and waiting for Sephiroth to drop the final gauntlet, doing this because it meant nothing and might just be a distraction.

Everyone thought Cloud was so strong, so dangerous, but all Vincent could feel were hollow bones and the places he could press, a little pressure and a twist and that would be the end of it, and he wondered what Sephiroth saw.

Cloud held onto him, and didn't speak, and Vincent was left to listen to the sound of their breathing echo off the steel. He wanted to give the other man something, wanted to try, but Cloud kept slipping out of his hands, sliding away as Vincent reached for him, and when he finally let go it came as a shock so sudden and unexpected and the first time, wasn't it, in this body. This body that wasn't really his body, not anymore – at least he was still human in the afterglow, he hadn't let himself think it might be otherwise – and Cloud was very still and very quiet, and Vincent shut his eyes and felt his face go hot.

"Did you..." No, obviously not, and if he couldn't actually remember how to be a man at least he could manage some shame for the lack.

"It's nothing." The edge of that smile again, Cloud sharing a joke with his own private ghosts. "Don't worry about it. I'm just... thinking too much."

A thousand miles away, in a place Vincent couldn't see, let alone touch.

Silence then, for a while. He shifted a little, but kept an arm around Cloud, as if politeness could soften the tension still pressing down around them. He could feel Cloud touch the join, where his metal arm melded into the skin.

"You were his father, weren't you?"

Payment, he knew then. All this between them had been nothing but payment for the simple question, glowing blue eyes staring into his and he looked young enough that the pang of shame felt right, and Vincent could not read them, the look there. He thought he'd known Lucrecia's mind once, confident at least of that. Vincent wondered now, if there was any difference at all between confidence and self-delusion.

"It seems as likely as not."

Sephiroth. His son. Not his son. Either one was true – perhaps even both at once.

"Zack said..." Cloud stopped himself, looked down, suddenly a thousand miles away. He did not mention the man to any of them, any more than was necessary. Kept it to himself, and Vincent understood. The secret things, sometimes it meant they would stay. "All the Mako and tinkering in the world – not Hojo, not him. Not a chance in hell."

"I tried not to think about it."

Aeris hadn't judged him, either. Maybe because she'd known how much Vincent wanted it. Her hatred would have made things simple.

Cloud stared at him then, for longer than he ever had before. Trying to judge if what Vincent had said was actually a joke. Vincent looked back, because he wasn't human and didn't belong here at this end of the world, and so he didn't have to care what Cloud saw. Didn't have to care that there wasn't really much to see.

"If I go again, you have to kill me." Cloud said, staring at the wall, only the glow of his eyes visible. "If she gets me, if he... and I can't... you have to do it. You're the only one fast enough." A hand tightened on his arm. "You will. You have to."

"I will. I promise." Vincent knew he could, could do it without hesitation, and wondered just what that made him.

He didn't have to do anything more, could have gotten up and walked out, or turned to the wall. Vincent stroked the fine hairs at Cloud's temple with his human hand, traced the line of his jaw. It was no comfort, simply fact – Hojo had put everything he had into this boy, this crucible. The only one he'd spent more time on had been Sephiroth himself.

"I didn't think it would ever matter, what I was responsible for."

The words came out on their own, but Vincent didn't try to stop them. He'd been a shadow, untouched and untethered and at the edge of even the Turks, a group never known for their kindnesses – and so it seemed ever more impossible, that all those decisions had come to such a terrible end, that all the steps he'd taken to the edge had instead led him into the center of it all.

"Do you remember what it felt like, Vincent? Before?" Cloud whispered, and Vincent knew what he was asking, that dim and distant past, that other life. "Do you remember?"

Vincent only tightened his hold, and Cloud clung to him, looking out into the darkness, and for a long, long time there was nothing of the world but the warm body in his arms, the feel of Cloud's chest as it rose and fell. The blue glow disappeared, when he finally shut his eyes, but Vincent knew he did not sleep.

* * *

"No, baby. Baby, please, I can explain."

Reno snickered into his hand, listening to Roman beg and plead into his cell phone. Each of them had a particular 'specialty' as a Turk – Vincent was lethal for at least a mile in any direction, and a godawful conversationalist – even when he'd been human, from what Reno had heard. Rude likely wore the same suit for weeks at a time, when he wasn't actively engaging in bar fights – or, to be fair, backing Reno up in said bar fights. Elena was still not as confident as she could have been, but was the only one of them who ever managed to pay a bill on time. Reno knew he was the employee with the longest criminal record in the company – both pre- and post-recruitment - and their newest addition, Roman, was polite and genial and, from what Reno could tell, little more than a walking boner in a freshly-pressed suit.

"Jilly, please stop crying. Stop crying, sweetheart." Roman murmured, turning toward the wall. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Nine girls on three continents - including Wutai - and those were only the ones Reno had kept count of, half-certain Roman had no less than three spare lines in addition to his company PHS. The Turk turned toward him when he stood up, but Reno only shook his head with a knowing grin, waving him back to his call – it wasn't as if they needed two people for this. Wouldn't have even needed one, if Vincent actually bothered with things as normal as doors and meetings and phone calls.

The new kid was good for the ugly work. Reno had sent Roman out several times already, to lie to the locals. Act unthreatening just long enough to get a shot off. He had the middle-management look down solid - all it took was a perfectly knotted tie and a genial smile and he was practically fucking invisible.

Reno made it a point not to blend, even here in the lower slums, and as he walked he watched movement in the shadows, all kinds of people deciding it was better to give him room. Sector trash, and proud of it, a survivor long before there had ever been a Crisis. Lockheart still hated him for what had happened in Sector Seven, but she'd been a small-town princess, and it was different. As if Reno would have bothered with hard feelings, if _he'd_ been the one under that plate. Just the way things were.

Except that things weren't the way things were. Not after the damn Plate had fallen, and Sephiroth had returned like some avenging angel from hell, all the worst probabilities for Hojo's little scientific circle-jerk with the military and the President – _all_ of them just falling over like dominoes.

Losing Tseng had not been losing a mentor, or even a friend, really. What it had been was losing the one fucking person Reno could count on to know what was going on, and take charge, make things right. Tseng had always known everything, and it had taken nearly a year after they'd buried him for Reno to believe he really wasn't coming back, that he hadn't created some clone or some contingency because _of course_ he knew Sephiroth would be there. Of course he would have seen his own death coming, taken it in stride, like any other inconvenience.

At the very least, he would have crawled up out of his own grave and strangled Reno for even trying to be in charge.

Reno stepped around a small waterfall of rusty water, something leaking from the upper deck, a hundred or so stories up. The city creaked and groaned around him, but in a familiar, stable way. You couldn't sink the bitch, not that easily.

At least Sephiroth was still gone, at least he could cross one thing off the fucking list. As if dealing with a homicidal Cloud Strife was anything remotely approaching better – and even that wasn't the real problem, Reno knew.

The real problem was, he wasn't Tseng. Tseng would have had a plan for dealing with Strife – would have _dealt_ with him by now, and he sure as hell wouldn't have been stabbing around in the fucking dark when it came to dealing with Rufus ShinRa.

A pack of drunks stumbled out of the better part of what was only a bar by post-Crisis standards – Reno could see where they'd actually riveted a fallen piece of plate to the brick wall to keep it mostly stable. As the door closed a blast of hot air, conversation and smoke hit him in the face, and Reno wondered when the fuck he'd ever started even thinking of being responsible.

_About the time Rufus stopped talking, wouldn't you say?_

Rufus' silence was disturbing on more levels than Reno usually bothered thinking about. The same kind of silence that the President had been fond of, just before he'd tried to destroy the world – and as much as Reno didn't want to have the thought, there it was. Rufus was keeping secrets and he had been a Turk more than long enough to know which secrets didn't matter and which ones he needed to be on the inside of and restarting the goddamn Nibelheim reactor? Really, Rufus? Was there some sort of competition for the worst fucking idea?

Baiting Strife, of course. As if they needed to, as if the bastard hadn't already made his position perfectly clear, attacking his old teammates, fighting for Wutai. But this was personal - Rufus was taking risks now, and usually Reno was glad to see it – but Rufus was also taking Cloud's actions far too personally, matching insanity for insanity when they'd never needed him to be cool and dispassionate more. The fucking lunatic SOLDIER was getting to him, and that was a bad, bad sign, with the promise of worse to come.

Reno slammed his fist against the side of a fence as he passed, listening to a chain reaction of sounds, clattering boards, a yelping dog and random property damage and goddamn Jormun, goddamn but Reno was half tempted to have Rude blow him up and ship the pieces to his lieutenants and see if any of them had the balls to try a coup.

"I can come back, if you're busy."

He could only see the edge of Vincent's cape in the glow of his electrorod, the man perched on the edge of the high ledge like an oversized gargoyle, silent as stone. Reno wondered, not for the first time, if Hojo had been the one to make them all so oddly _off_, inhuman, or if he'd simply had a knack for picking the right test subjects. The former Turk was just _there_, red eyes watching him placidly, and it served to remind Reno of just what he was facing, how nothing here was at all interested in playing by any of the rules he understood.

"Fuck. You." Reno dragged the words out, letting his weapon go dark, hands flexing for a cigarette or the neck of a bottle and fuck, he'd been so preoccupied he'd forgotten his two favorite food groups. He grimaced, ran a hand across his face – and heard the familiar soft 'pak' of a box of cigarettes hitting the crumbling wall right next to his shoulder. He took them without comment, nearly crushing the box in the attempt to get it open.

"What have you heard from Wutai?"

Silent. He couldn't hear Valentine breathing – if he even bothered to breathe. It made all his own movements seem loud and clumsy – but he was used to that. Reno snorted, finally snapping the pack open.

"Like I fucking need to hear anything. You know how it's going to play out."

He flicked his nightstick on long enough to spark the end – he only shocked the fuck out of himself when he was drunk, mostly – and took a long drag. It didn't actually help, but it at least provided a momentary distraction.

"Jormun's in charge, and Rufus won't do anything about it. We don't-" He had to glance up, to make sure Vincent was still there, resenting him for it. "You know the rest. It doesn't change."

It should have been Vincent, in charge. Reno knew it. Rufus damn well knew it too, but he hadn't asked and Valentine hadn't offered and for fuck's sake why. It wasn't like they even needed him in the damn building, if that was the problem.

"It is changing."

"So you're a fucking fortune cookie now." No answer, not that Reno expected one. "You've seen him, haven't you. He came to you next, after Wallace and the fucking pilot."

Entirely possible, that Vincent wouldn't answer him, but Reno couldn't think of another reason that they'd both be standing here now. Well, he was standing, Valentine still looming like some oversized, gift-wrapped vulture. The tips of his metal claw gleamed, where it lightly grasped the stone. Reno couldn't imagine he did much damage with it – couldn't imagine that most people ever got anywhere close enough.

"It's been over a year, since I last saw Cloud Strife. You have the report."

"When he blew up half the fucking square, along with your target. I remember." If only they'd known then, if only. Rufus needed to expand his preemptive homicide policy in a big way. "So have you seen him, then?"

"He has no use for me now."

Fuck if he could tell what the bastard even meant by that.

"Rufus is going to restart the Nibelheim reactor."

At least Reno could take a little satisfaction that the pause meant something this time.

"He'll kill you for it. All of you."

Reno didn't answer, didn't really need to, only exhaled slow and long, watched the thin stream of smoke drift away, still nothing in this sector that could really be called wind.

"He's going to do that anyway. If we don't stop him soon, we're not going to stop him." Reno let the stub of the cigarette fall, crushing it out under his heel. Across the wide, garbage strewn courtyard, a light was flickering. The surface of the moon, cast in a staccato glow.

Vincent didn't say anything – and Reno tried not to think that he was half hoping the man would say something – that no, Cloud wasn't pushing toward an endgame. That things weren't going to turn into another fucking Crisis.

"Rufus has a plan." Vincent said mildly, as if he'd already seen the plan and knew they were all fucked.

Reno shut his eyes, just for a moment. Should have lit up another cigarette off the old one, too late for that now, and he felt too tired to even bother with a new one. Valentine already knew, he was sure of that, already knew everything and how to fix it and was in no hurry to do anything but watch him twist.

"What would you think, if you saw SOLDIER docs on his desk?"

A challenge in his eyes, though Rufus had said nothing when he'd seen them, simply slipped them into a drawer. Reno didn't want to answer that challenge, because it meant he'd have to know the truth, and face the consequences.

"Research on Cloud, perhaps." The ex-Turk's voice was even and empty. "What else could it be?"

"I don't... I don't know. He's not talking, he's not like he used to be. I don't fucking like it. I don't like any of it. Not with him and not with Jormun and fucking Wutai and fucking Strife - shit."

Reno scraped the edge of his electrorod against the wall. On the other side of the street, the sputtering light had finally gone out, only the thinnest of emergency light left to illuminate them here. Nothing much rebuilt this far out, most people moving to live where the parts of the plate had fallen away.

"Rufus asked you to-"

"No, he didn't, because he knew you'd tell us to go fuck ourselves. Without, you know, actually talking or even showing up." The conversation he didn't want to have, but there was no way to avoid it, not now. Cloud had been seen in Wutai, cutting down everything they threw at him, but who knew how long that would last?

"We've got no one else who can fight him, Valentine. Scarlet says she's got some ideas, working on some new weapons... but you know what that's worth."

"What do you think Cloud wants? Why do this?"

Reno snorted again. Had to remember that Strife had been on their team – a clusterfuck of a team, but a team just the same. Maybe Valentine really didn't get it.

"Why not do it? He's a crazy son of a bitch. SOLDIER-crazy, as bad as any of them ever were. He wants Midgar. He wants Rufus dead and Midgar gone and I think he's willing to kill everyone on the Planet to make that happen."

Sephiroth was a grandiose motherfucker, and Reno hadn't understood most of the shit he'd been on about – but this now, with Strife, this was nothing more than revenge. Ugly and dirty to the last, and Reno knew what that looked like, and how little they had to throw back at it.

Vincent wasn't talking. Who knew what he was thinking – he'd given them nothing, and as far as Reno was concerned the ex-Turk was potentially as big a threat as Cloud might be, no matter how many damn missions he'd done for them. It was all on Valentine's decision, and they didn't have a choice but to use him – but fuck if it wasn't one hell of a threat, and he was going to turn on them, sooner or later.

"If Cloud wins, maybe everyone dies. At least everyone in Midgar – and I'm sure as hell not going to let him do it."

"No one gets to drop the plates but you?" Vincent, mild yet sharp, and really the first sign that he was at all human.

"Fuck right off. Turks follow orders." At least they did, back when the world was nominally sane and he didn't have to do more than listen to Tseng and hit people mostly in the face. "This city fucking sucks, but it's my city."

Vincent shifted, metal arm scraping a bit on the brick outcrop, the only warning the conversation was over.

"I'll be in touch."

He was gone before Reno looked up. The fact that he'd spoken at all – that was damn near as good as an agreement signed and sealed. He tapped the electrorod against the back of his knee, and sighed, and flipped the bird to the darkness.

"Godspeed, you fucking creepy jackass."

* * *

Tseng had been the one to eliminate both troopers, the ones that had somehow managed to execute a First Class SOLDIER against direct orders, and yet hadn't brought Cloud Strife in or even managed to finish the job.

They'd misunderstood the order. They'd thought Zack was the threat, and he'd been sick enough or unlucky enough that they'd actually been able to take him down. Cloud had been nothing, obviously, not even worth using for target practice

It was epic, unbelievable, _unsurprising_ ShinRa incompetence at its finest, and Tseng had finished the job himself, without hesitation.

A waste of bullets, he said after, and hadn't said what had happened to the bodies of the troopers, or where Zack's body had vanished to – or the disappearance of Cloud Strife. The idiot troopers had pleaded for their lives, of course, spitting blood, begging and making excuses in equal portions – the kid was monster meat, good as dead – but that wasn't true, and as much as Rufus had wanted to forget it, wanted to assume the kid had dragged Zack's body off a cliff and followed after him, the truth was that Hojo's budget increase had gone up another 700,000 gil per quarter for no reason whatsoever.

The truth was that SOLDIERS under his command – Hojo's fucking _command_ and when the fuck did he get that promotion? – had gone out searching for the boy, and not even Tseng had the clearance to follow them. And Rufus had heard no more of it, nothing, until his father had died and Cloud Strife had shown up with a SOLDIER uniform and a sword as large as he was and more than enough reasons to want them all dead, even if he apparently hadn't remembered them all at the time.

Rufus had been one step behind, chasing after shadows for the entire span of the Crisis, until it had all but killed him. And if nothing changed, the story would repeat itself again, except he was sure Cloud would finish the job the Planet had overlooked.

His shoes clicked as he walked across the stark white floor, and he enjoyed the familiar, sharp sound. The laboratories below the ShinRa tower had suffered little to no damage, even with the combined destructive power of Meteor and Holy – and he liked that too.

It took a little extra effort to move so briskly, the legs in his muscles aching as he forced himself to keep a steady stride, listening to the rhythm in his steps as he made his way into a section of the ShinRa building that most everyone else within the corporation thought had been abandoned after Hojo's death – certainly after the reconstruction of the city. Even the Turks were unaware – not for lack of trying, Rufus thought with a smile.

He'd been lying to Reno, of course. The program was slightly further along than simple recovery – and he hadn't had any reservations about starting it up again. Or at least, what there was to start up, walking down white-walled corridors past men and women working with quiet precision – the bodies of some of the SOLDIERS, the ones they'd been able to recover. It would have been nice to find the ones Hojo had done... extra work on, but all of those had been lost at the Crater.

The data loss had been grievous, but there was still enough to go on, to try new experiments, to see how mako could be manipulated – to find something to kill fucking Strife, and at least three labs were directly under Scarlet's control to that end, though Rufus had heard of no particular progress, nothing but theories and hypotheses. How to stop the SOLIDER with a single shot, perhaps even how to calm the Planet, chemicals that could be released directly into the Lifestream, now that it was more than just a pretty metaphor.

"President ShinRa. We didn't know you'd be coming, sir."

One thing, to lose all of his research, but Rufus could hardly resent losing the man himself. Hojo had never treated him with anything but the smallest respect, the scientist confident in his exalted position with the President – his father had more use for Hojo than he'd ever had for him, and everyone knew it. As Hojo had no close comrades or protégés, there was not a person in any of these labs anything like him – Rufus had made sure of that, with bullets.

"There's no problem. I'm just here to look around."

Because he couldn't sleep, because halfway around the world ShinRa soldiers were being ground up by Wutai weapons and one piece of malfunctioning ShinRa equipment with a grudge. Just here to try and pretend he had any idea what he was doing, or that they were any closer to an answer.

It was a desperate and stupid move, to fire up the Nibelheim reactor – the childish need to strike out at Cloud Strife even though there would certainly be backlash. Still, the son of a bitch wasn't invincible and damned if Rufus was going to start treating him that way.

He felt his hand tremble a little bit, squeezed it into a tight fist, gazing out over the main room of the laboratory. Rufus had never thought Reno to be particularly insightful, but there had been no mistaking the look in his eyes when he'd seen that folder, hard and accusing, even if he hadn't been sure of just why. If Rufus had shown him this room, a direct copy of one of the old SOLDIER infusion chambers, he probably would have had to order a new office window and chair, at the least.

"How are things going?"

The head scientist sighed deeply – a nervous man by nature, not at all confident – and everything Rufus could have wanted, no arrogance, no climbing or grasping at power. A bit too cautious, perhaps, but restarting the SOLDIER program was insanity by any measure, even if the piecemeal procedure _worked_ there would certainly be problems, there had always been problems. He could hardly fault the man for his worry.

"It's slow going, trying to rebuild – we think we've cracked the initial procedure, based on some of your files, what we've been able to reconstruct from the raw data. Conceivably, within a conservative timeframe..."

"How long?"

"A month, maybe." The man shook his head. "Maybe for a trial, if it works at all. The margins for error are... not _there_, not at all. Sir, I know I'm not... terribly familiar with ShinRa protocol, or the history of this particular... but I... I would never consider this procedure appropriate for _initial testing_, let alone for development or human experimentation."

A surprising lack of vision. That was what Hojo had said of Gast, and most everyone else he ever came into contact with. Rufus had grown up with the program – it had seemed inevitable, worth even the high cost – and even Cloud Strife had fought with everything he had to make the trials. Amusing, to see it through the eyes of an outsider, looking at all this and wondering why anyone would consider it a good idea.

"You don't have to worry. We're not about to go into full scale production. It likely won't ever be used again the way my father intended. SOLDIERS are more liability than benefit, in the long run. I'm just... keeping my options open."

Who would even test it, if he wanted to do such a thing? Who could Rufus trust with that kind of power, that he wouldn't just be releasing another Cloud Strife into the world?

Rufus looked down at his hand, slowly opened his fist. Watched his fingers tremble slightly. Weaker than he had been, the last time. Much weaker, and ShinRa was weaker too, and for all his talk of options and strategies, it would take power to stop Cloud Strife. Power to match the SOLDIER's own, whatever the risk or cost.


	14. Chapter 14

"- Time 0500 hours. Advanced SOLDIER restoration initiative - subject has been classified 'Project C,' Professor Hojo presenting initial evaluation. I will be supervising the entire procedure – there is no estimated end date at this time."

It was hard to breathe, like he'd been running for miles, tasting metal on each breath in, the air sharp and chilly. He wasn't running, though, Cloud knew that - he was bleeding out on the catwalk, suspended above the pit of Mako, the searing pain that somehow blunted nothing, every moment stripped down bare and gleaming.

"Subject has been administered base dosages of mako-enhanced 73AD4 and 567K9 in accordance with SOLDIER preliminary procedures, along with additional dosages of K34 to speed up cellular regeneration from damage sustained at collection site."

Sephiroth had cut him down, went right through him like he wasn't even there – of course, what other way could it have been? - but it hadn't been the General, not anymore, and Zack had told him what to do even though they both had to know there was no way he could do it and now he was dead. They were both dead. Cloud remembered the fire, now little more than a backdrop to the list of horrors.

Gone. The whole of the world, and everyone in it.

A soft click cut through the silence, a jarring halt in his slowly rising panic.

"Project C shows mild initial Mako resistance consistent with low-level overexposure. Vital signs are within test parameters - no adjustments to startup procedures will be made at this time."

Cloud could feel the sword inside of him, swore he could feel the shudder where the metal caught and slid against his spine. His hands wouldn't move, his whole body somehow clamped down fast against the ground, the grate. He had been dying. So now he was dead, and this was what came after.

"Good morning."

Cloud opened his eyes.

The light glinted off thick glasses, hiding the man's gaze. White lab coat. Armless – no, hands clasped behind his back. Cloud tried to speak, but nothing escaped, a grip of lead wrapping around his throat, slowly choking him.

"I've taken the liberty of freezing your vocal cords, part of my standard pre-op. It's for my own benefit, you see-" Hojo lifted a hand, describing some random figure in the air. He stood with his shoulders hunched, as if it were cold or he was cradling some deep injury. It turned him into a vulture, nothing less. "Metal walls and all, it tends to echo. I doubt there's much you would have to say anyway."

It wasn't a question.

"I'm Professor Hojo. We've never met specifically, although I have... reviewed your file. I must admit, I skimmed a bit. That Gongangan must have told you about me, though. All kinds of wonderful stories, I'm sure. We'll have plenty of time to get acquainted, and then you can have some stories of your own."

Zack had said nothing to him, had only ever grimaced when the man's name was mentioned, a dangerous flash of anger in his eyes, more than enough to keep Cloud from asking further. Professor Hojo, of course Cloud knew the name - he was the head advisor on the SOLDIER program.

Cloud had... and then Sephiroth had... with the sword...

And then he'd fallen, Sephiroth had fallen and Cloud had lay there with his face pressed against the catwalk and watched him go. Zack had told him what he had to do and Cloud had done it and it had been the impossible and hadn't made any difference even so.

Hojo breathed out through his nose, a thin little wheeze, and took off his glasses, cleaning them on the edge of his shirt. Cloud was shaking. Hard to move, to think of what he needed to do, but he was shaking, and he couldn't seem to stop. He arched slightly, wrists and ankles pressing up against the cold restraints – he was naked, and splayed out on this table and Hojo's eyes were cold and distant and calculating, as if he were standing in front of a row of test tubes or a computer screen.

His hands hurt. He had gripped the edge of the Masamune, Cloud remembered it like a story he had been told, too impossible to be his own, but the cuts were still wide open on his hands, likely to the bone - not bleeding, not now, not anymore.

Sephiroth, going over the catwalk, the moment of utter disbelief in those glowing eyes not an emotion Cloud could have ever imagined, let alone expected to see.

The professor had a small digital recorder in one hand – Cloud had heard the snap of the button, shockingly loud in the silent room, and Hojo made notes while he slowly circled Cloud's body, checking the various tubes and wires that were connected into him, feeding into him – and Hojo said something about Mako and twisted a knob and his vision went abruptly white, burned out.

Gutted.

Falling.

An endless storm, and all around him were the sounds of screaming, until it was white noise, burning through his thoughts. A voice Cloud knew whipped past, high-pitched and wailing, but even as he jerked his head painfully to try and see it was gone, and he was falling and falling, slipped over the edge of the world and lost forever. The wind off the cliffs at Nibelheim, rising up to lash at him, razor-sharp and cold and clawing through skin and bone. He made a desperate, choked sound, but could do no more. Could not even move, to try and fend it away.

"... by presidential request. Officially, subject will undergo full regimen to examine effects of SOLDIER-level procedure on unqualified candidates, along with additional mental conditioning as outlined in procedural files 24913-B and 4352-A."

Hojo was still taking notation, as if nothing had happened at all, though Cloud was shuddering, full body spasms his heart thudding, plucked and shaken in his chest as he tried and failed to take a full breath. Half-certain he was going to be sick, the feel of every inch of his body operating utterly out of his control.

He flinched anyway, or thought he did, as something clattered against the table. The glint of light off the edge of the recorder made him wince – Mako sensitive, he knew he was, the legacy of a lifetime of living near the reactor... Cloud flexed his hands in a panic, feeling tears build behind the wall in his throat, his chest constricting.

"Sephiroth used to sit right here, a long, long time ago. You did kill him, you know."

Hojo's eyebrows scrunched together in what might have been charity. It was terrifying. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together. Cloud swore he could hear the slip and friction of each cell.

"Well no, hardly your fault – impossible, really. He _slipped_. I have the footage." Hojo chuckled to himself. "God, if I'd have known that... a lifetime's worth of work gone, all because of a little blood on the floor. Except now she tells me that it's not impossible to fix, not at all - and certainly, you'll have more than enough time to make it up to me."

Cloud didn't want to know what those words meant. He wanted his mother. He wanted his mother.

"It was a shame. I watched the whole thing. I didn't expect him to understand, not completely... but still." Hojo clucked his tongue slightly, looked down at him, the bright lights still reflecting off his glasses, and he seemed less than a ghost. "Please try to understand - I don't make monsters, project C. I make gods."

Hojo's hands moved with a steady precision, checking his equipment and adjusting the feed of the dozens of tubes sticking out of Cloud's body. The world burned around him, instantly freezing cold. His vision blurred, grayed around the edges – and there were voices in the shadows of the room, the softest whispers, static – but if he listened and they knew he could hear them, it would be the end of him, surely. Cloud tried to pull away, to make himself small, hiding in his own mind even as he clawed against his own motionless body, fighting for any sense of control, just enough to scream. If only he could scream it would be enough to save him, it would be enough with Hojo still working calmly, barely half-interested and talking, talking...

"I can make anyone a SOLDIER, if they let me. Well, except for the ones that I can't."

If he didn't move, it wouldn't hurt, except it was a lie and he knew it. Cloud tried to keep time with his heartbeat, to tell if any time was passing at all, but the feel of it was a roar in one moment and silence the next, and he couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. What would Zack do now? How would a SOLDIER take this? How was he supposed to be brave and endure or was this where he was supposed to die with honor and how could he do either when he couldn't breathe or speak or move at all?

"Subject shows excellent signs for Mako absorption without cellular damage or initial systemic failure." Hojo jotted a few notes down on a clipboard. Cloud struggled to swallow, nearly choked on it, and wondered how long it would take for this man to destroy him. He wasn't strong, never been strong, and he didn't want to leave Zack here alone but he couldn't, he couldn't...

_please Zack please help me please please god please Zack tell me what to do_

"Gast was smart, a very smart man - but he wouldn't take the risks. Wouldn't do what needed to be done. All that knowledge wasted by his determination to be average."

Hojo was touching him, Cloud could tell by the angle of his arm, the way he was looking down, but he couldn't move his head, or feel his body, everything suddenly numb. The static was getting worse, so cold he was afraid he would hear his bones crack. A sinuous whisper, something moving in, curling up behind his eyes - it had found him. Oh god it had found him.

"SOLDIER treatments only provide for flawless post-op healing. So you'll likely be keeping that scar. I'm sure you prefer it that way."

Gone so fast, that choking twisting dark, he could have convinced himself it was only his own terror except it wasn't, it _wasn't_ and Hojo's eyes met his through his thick glasses and Cloud knew he heard it too. Whatever it was. Whoever.

He was going to die.

"I'd be a bit more sympathetic, I really would, if I thought there was anything I was taking away from you that you would miss. Even if I hadn't read your file, the law of averages gives me the benefit of the doubt. You don't have any particular inherent value, do you? Not strong or exceptionally intelligent or at all interesting in... any... way."

Hojo made a slight noise, quite possibly amusement, and tapped the pen against the board, before setting it slowly down.

"No one comes to Midgar to be a private, specimen. Not a butcher, baker, candlestick maker – a private - or a second-rank scientist in an underfunded lab. No one comes to ShinRa with any dream but one."

And Cloud knew it. Knew that dream, carried it with him long enough that it had worn a groove into him, tucked so close next to his heart. Just think of it, a world where he would be envied, and even feared.

The world that had burned around him.

Cloud would have given anything not to know that Hojo knew, that this madman could judge him so easily and precisely, and he looked away as well as he could, vision blurring as he tried to focus, watching clear liquid fall into a tube connected to his left arm, drop by drop by drop.

Hojo sighed, patience or pity or just rolling up his sleeves.

"Mediocrity is our curse, project C. The small and useless creatures that make up this world find politics, or society, or religion – any distraction, any self-built empire that they fervently believe will help them deny the truth of their own unimaginable unimportance."

Self-loathing made the words grind together like rough stones, suddenly too loud. Before he could think or move everything turned upside down, there was fire ripping through his body, burning down his arms, claws ripping out through his veins. Cloud managed a breath, a swift, cut-off sound, arms flexing in the restraints, his whole body slamming against them, arching up as the Mako took him again, the gnashing jaws of some crazed and feral animal.

"My boy-" Hojo chuckled, sharing the joke with himself, his voice a whisper that slid through Cloud's mind like hot sand. "I assume I managed to pass along enough of my deficiencies through nurture, if not nature. Still, I made him to be the best, so much better than merely human. Beautiful and perfect and untouchable – this world would not leave a mark on him, would not drag him to its level, and you all loved him for it, didn't you? Loved him and hated him and worshipped him. I don't think he ever really understood it - not like you do, project C. I believe you understand everything." Hojo reached down, wiped one of the tears that had fallen down Cloud's cheek. "I wish, sometimes, I could have seen him through your eyes."

Sephiroth. Oh how he'd clung to the word, the man and the power and everything that he was, everything worthy, but in this moment there was nothing left of it but ash, and shame and an ending he had – impossibly - lived beyond, into this endless purgatory. Nothing was going to save him now. Cloud could still see the fire. He wondered if he always would.

It had been beautiful. Sephiroth had been magnificent, even in ruin and madness and despair. What else could he have been?

"You wanted to be a SOLDIER. Quite adamant about it, in fact, despite your various... failings. You would have done anything to be here. We both know this. Sacrificed anything. Risked anything. And now here you are – isn't that nice? Would anyone in that town have even missed you? Was it really so bad to watch it burn?"

Cloud scrabbled desperately for a memory to shore up against the storm, thoughts slipping and useless even before the invasion that battered his mind and swept over his pathetic defenses. One time or place that wasn't here and now, one hope - but panic scattered what was left of his thoughts, and nothing came. Nothing except ten-thousand dull and hopeless days and all the people he hated to fill them, a whole world that didn't have any use for him. The need to get out, to run, but even the running was useless, when it only brought him back here in the end. Back home to the fire and the end of everything, to this room past the final hour, bare white walls and the gleam of metal and Hojo's knowing smile, so certain and weary and cruel.

"The way things will turn out, you even get to keep your innocence. It wasn't your fault your town was destroyed. It's not your fault that you're a very useful loose end for me to tie up. You certainly have no choice in the matter. Whatever happens, project C, whatever we both _know_ is true, no one sane could ever argue you were willing. Isn't that nice?"

The Professor wasn't taking notes now. Wasn't checking his equipment or preparing the next round of chemicals. Hojo was simply looking down at him, as terrifying when the light burned his eyes away as when he tipped his head, and Cloud could see through the glasses, see him staring back before he leaned down close. Cloud wanted to look away but there was no away.

"What would happen, I wonder, if I were to give you the chance to leave? The opportunity to walk out of this room free and unfettered? What life is waiting for you out there? What could you possibly hope to achieve as you are now?"

The truth wasn't worse than the pain, not now, but it would be. The agony might end but this truth would never leave him, and Cloud would have given anything not to hear it. Not to have to know, to feel Hojo cutting him open, putting a piece of this room inside of him and he wouldn't be able to escape it, not now, not ever.

"You want this. You want this so badly that the death of your little town doesn't even seem like enough of a price. You _want_ me to hurt you, as much as I can, because it will mean that you earned it. You want some way to deserve it, deserve _him_. You've done nothing but wait for this moment all of your life."

He patted Cloud's shoulder gently, the tips of the rubber gloves sticking ever so slightly to Cloud's skin.

"It's all right. It will be our little secret, just the two of us." Hojo looked down again, the glare off the lights making his eyes invisible once more, a match to the icy pallor of his skin. "And by the time that changes, you won't even be here to worry about it. You're going to help me bring my boy back, for the victory that should have been his from the start, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it."

Cloud wasn't going to die, then. He wasn't ever going to die.

Hojo took off his glasses, cleaning them on the edge of his coat. Cloud watched him rub his thumb along the edge of the lens, clear and sharp as the rest of the world skipped and faded and curled at the edges, a damaged film reel badly spliced. Hojo's words a soft, generous whisper even though they were alone - and then Cloud realized they _weren't_ alone. The silence had eyes, a hungry mouth and a heavy intent, and he was about to know it, know it well and better, with every bit of himself that fell away.

"For the first time in your entire life, Private Strife, someone's going to give you exactly what you want."

* * *

The stars sang, sharp as glass and cold and brilliant, in that place beyond the edge of the world, Cloud had known when it would all be over, the final fight, the end of the road. He'd always known, because the very last victory wouldn't feel like victory at all. And it hadn't.

He tasted blood – he'd bit his tongue, every muscle stiff and rigid and still waiting for Hojo's next move, waiting for the pain to hit and take all of his control and all the world away. Wondered who was left to feel it – not him, not him. No Cloud any more, just tiny pieces he could hold in his hand, fragments like dust in the corners of an empty room – and maybe they had been a person, long ago, but that was over now and done.

"Zack, are you dead?"

Midgar, and if he lowered his arm from his eyes Cloud knew he would see two bars of light across his bunk, where the fluorescents from outside fell across the bed. The thin curtains across the windows weren't nearly enough to keep them out. He had to sleep, because he had practice early in the morning, but Cloud knew he wouldn't sleep and – more importantly – it wouldn't matter, keyed up enough that he'd last the whole day on maybe three hours if could just close his eyes for a moment.

"What? Cloud, I'm right here. Bad dream?"

Zack laughed, hoisted him up over a shoulder because Cloud weighed nothing-point-zilch and the SOLDIER could bench-press small buildings for fun. Somehow he'd let his guard down, fallen asleep in Zack's room – homework, if it wasn't drills it was exams – but he could laugh anyway. The luxury of it, even with Zack dragging him off to god-knew-where – to be unafraid. Unafraid, and to know enough to be grateful for it.

Zack had never really understood, why Cloud was always hesitating, always wary. He didn't understand failure because he'd never failed. Not when it mattered. The desperation of nothing but last chances.

"Zack? Zack, are you dead?"

"I'm here, Spike. I'm here."

Zack watched him from under the arm that had been thrown across his eyes, shading from the sun – too weary to do anything else and little shelter there in the middle of nowhere. Traveling – running for their lives - and he would have told Zack to leave him but Zack's eyes would just go cold and dark and empty and that was worse than anything, and Cloud couldn't really talk anyway, lips dry and chapped, and it was all he could do to swallow back the sudden rise of bile.

"Zack?"

Rain. The sound of rain pounding against the muddy ground, and there was a scream in the back of his throat that made his voice crack and tremble, breaking in the air.

"Are you dead, Zack?"

Why did he ask? Why did he always have to ask?

* * *

Cloud opened his eyes, staring up at the crossed beams of a wooden Wutai ceiling, his body rigid and his heart pounding so hard his vision blurred with each beat. In the past, in the Crisis, he'd been confused, frightened, startling from his dreams in panic, uncertainty. It was worse to know, to wake up knowing, the world so perfectly clear.

Yuffie sighed in her sleep, rolling onto her side, pressed against him, exhausted from the battle, from so many newfound obligations. Worried about him, Cloud wasn't so oblivious not to know that, even if she said nothing. Afraid of how fast and how hard he pushed himself – because she couldn't know that wasn't the problem, not for him, anymore.

Silence was the only real danger, the still places and the lurking memories. If he could have kept fighting always, kept moving, fast and far enough-

Yuffie had scolded him after the battle, for worrying her. A punch on his arm that had turned into a caress that had so easily slipped into an embrace, and it felt good to remember it now. Nostalgic, as if it had all happened long ago, years, a lifetime. Sweet and sad and true.

He could kill her now, here in the dark, where she trusted him absolutely. He could do it now, and there would likely be no consequence. Nothing he couldn't afford to lose. Cloud looked up at the ceiling, and thought that casually thinking of murdering a girl who loved him unconditionally was probably a very, very bad sign.

The metrics had shifted, the measurements of right and wrong, what he was supposed to be and do, what mattered. The laws of purgatory were different from the laws of the world. Hojo had thought to make him a puppet and had cut everything else away, nothing to measure by but the vaguest remembrances of what must have been his life. The quiet certainty that it had not been like this once, that it had been better, even though Cloud couldn't remember when or how.

It was a race, always a race now, and the fact Cloud kept forgetting that was only a sign of how dangerously close he was to losing.

Yuffie shifted again, the ends of her hair barely brushing against the palm of his open hand, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. This had never been his world, it was never supposed to be. So fragile. All so fragile, and so beautiful – and if not for Hojo, she would never have known his name.

If he shut his eyes, there would be memories watching him from the shadows, the lingering and unrepentant phantoms that knew too much, so Cloud looked up at the ceiling, at the darkness past the glow of his eyes, until the thought faded.

He wasn't losing his mind - that was all done long ago. It should have ended, all of it, but it hadn't, and now he was charting his course, through the long and winding path of what came after.

* * *

The things Cloud knew he'd taken from Zack, the things he did like Zack did were all the things he'd never done on his own, before Nibelheim, before Hojo. Zack had been so many places Cloud had never seen, knew so much more than Cloud thought he would ever know. The Wutai war, and so many other battles – the world that set men apart, even when they weren't SOLDIERS.

Zack beneath his skin, safe and secure and confident, and though Tifa had taken that shadow of peace, of false certainty, the rest had been hard-wired into him, Hojo's slapdash patch of whatever had been left behind, when he'd once again proven himself a failure. So he drank like Zack and he sang like Zack and he probably smoked like Zack, although he hadn't had any reason to ever try. Cloud was fairly sure he could lie like Zack, all drawl and blatant disinterest, and he could slouch like Zack had, though there wasn't much use for it. He loaded a gun like himself, but he stripped it like Zack – and definitely Zack when he did it blindfolded.

It was Zack when he flirted with pretty girls, a little lurch of warmth and pride in his chest that made his whole body ache, and it was Zack when he polished the edge of his sword and it was probably, probably Zack when he killed, although Cloud was willing to take that one on himself, as things had gone further and further along.

It was Zack with Yuffie, at least the better parts. It hadn't been Zack with Vincent, but Cloud wasn't sure if it had been him either, and he was fairly certain Vincent didn't care. It had only been for the end of the world – since the world hadn't ended, it was possible it had never happened at all.

On this night, it was Zack that had gotten him up from the bed and out the door without waking Yuffie, without even shifting her where she slept, and he drew the Ultima silently from where it rested against the wall near the door.

The moon hung in the sky like a stone slipping from its setting, the courtyard illuminated by torches, and Cloud could hear the guards shifting positions at the edges of the town, though not many, not now. ShinRa had much larger concerns at the moment, than trying to gather any kind of retaliatory strike.

The sword was so light in his hands, like the toy he used to play with as a child, imagining he was strong, and brave. Slaying dragons. Before he'd ever heard of SOLDIER or Hojo or Sephiroth.

Amazing, that there had been a time in his life, some distant point far in the past when he hadn't even known the man's name.

_I'm sorry, Zack. I'm trying to be strong. I'm trying._

Cloud focused on the movements as much as he could, his mind always wandering, picking through the past like a quiet beachcomber. Remembering the way he used to watch Zack, when they were off-duty with the sun going down, and he'd ached to know what it would feel like to hold the blade, to have such effortless power. Practicing now was like calling some small sliver of the man back to life, and he tried hard not to hate Tifa for what she'd taken away, even if it had been broken and he'd never had claim to it to begin with.

_I didn't think it would keep going. I didn't think it could._

It wasn't supposed to be like this, none of it was. Cloud marveled at the surreality of it all – still didn't recognize the SOLDIER reflected back at him in the half-second gleam from his blade. He could only see himself in the raw and frightened idiots he cut down without effort on the field. Any one of them could have been him. Any of them could have been the one to kill Zack.

He remembered how Zack looked, of course, though it was infinitely more important how Zack felt and how Zack smelled. He'd spent most of his time so close, especially at the end, tucked in the crook of his arm, listening to the sound of Zack's voice reverberating through his chest, a deep, comforting sound. Hot, his skin had always been hot and he'd always smelled like metal and mud and wet leaves. Cloud wished there had been more – before, back at ShinRa – knew that Zack wouldn't want him to remember the time they'd spent on the run as any kind of comfort.

It had been, though. Safe. He had never been safe, except with Zack, even when it meant he'd had to _be_ Zack to make it all right. Cloud could still shut his eyes and remember, even if he'd known better, even then.

_Was it like this in Wutai, Zack? When nothing made sense, and nothing mattered?_

Victory without victory. Cloud could have anything he wanted, now that there was nothing left to want.

He stopped mid-strike, breathed in slow - tasting her on the wind. Cool and gentle and absolutely silent – he was a SOLDIER and he still couldn't hear her footsteps across the grass – but he could feel her, that power slipping through every cell in his body, and even the Jenova cells, forever buzzing in his skin, even with their master long dead – even they stilled, and for a moment there was peace, and if he did not move or breathe he could feel her hand, the false warmth on his shoulder, still more real than most these days.

"I thought you might come."

The Nibelheim reactor, that was why Aeris was here now. It had burned in him from the moment they'd relit it, an icy pain that bit as deep as any, the base of his neck and down his spine, and even when Aeris touched him there was little she could do. It had been the same for the rest of them, every reactor they'd turned back on. He was connected to the Planet now – it hurt, he hurt. The Planet, the Ancients, all awake and howling, furious that the last Ancient's sacrifice had brought so little change, that their place in the world had been usurped by such a useless, unworthy lot.

Aeris could make them quiet. She could even still the Lifestream, though never for long, and Cloud wished he didn't have to feel the regret that clung to her – sadness for him that he didn't need, that served no purpose - but it was still peace. No world for a moment, past the boundary of her gentle smile.

"I'm nearly done here. Wutai will crush what remains, at the worst they'll be deadlocked for months." The ShinRa would stay even though it would cost them. Too stupid to do anything but follow their own inertia - but it was of little consequence. Only the anvil, on which to bring the hammer down.

Aeris said nothing – they didn't let her speak, never allowed her to stay more than a few moments, most of the time. Still, Cloud could feel what she knew and what she wanted and even what she hid from him, some of the time. Worry, always and always afraid for him.

Cloud still hadn't found out what had caused that crash, the last time they'd dragged him down in anger and fury and Yuffie had to hold onto him until he could claw his way out – until they'd let him go. Maybe it had meant nothing, or maybe they'd tried to summon a WEAPON. A new threat, an old threat, to try to wear him down and force his hand.

"Whatever it is, whatever they think they've done, they can't hurt me anymore."

Aeris didn't believe him – wanted him to look at her, but he couldn't. It was too hard, he was a coward and her absolution was too great a weight to bear.

"It's all right, Aeris. I give them what they want – they give me what I want."

What they wanted, but didn't think he could manage. Zero faith in him and absolutely disinterested in waiting, whatever he might be able to do. Impatient and angry and... simply angry, a fury with no beginning and no end. Cloud wondered if the Ancients had the intention to take back the Planet entirely, if such a thing were even possible, or if this were simply a matter of revenge. Maybe Jenova had not been their only enemy – simply the threat that had lasted, the first in a long line.

"She's a pretty girl, isn't she? I'm glad she's with you."

No longer Aeris, she had gone with less than a whisper, and Cloud couldn't even feel her anymore, just the Lifestream swirling and hissing just like the night wind, glowing green ribbons that warped and twisted around his ankles. Cloud wondered why he bothered caring, whether it was another fake, another false mask of the green, or really his mother standing there. Amazing, that they hadn't considered using her sooner.

Cloud let himself look. She stared back, uncertain and wary. One hand clasped at her elbow – she wanted to reach out for him, holding herself back.

"You should have a jacket on." Her gentle voice, trembling on the simple words. "It's cold out here tonight."

"Did it hurt?"

He'd wanted to know. He'd wanted to know for a long time. Cloud forced himself to keep looking, to watch her smile, wry and bittersweet, one shoulder lifting with a helpless little shrug, as Zack's memories filled in the sight of her body on the floor. The Masamune so sharp, so slender – even the wounds on Aeris' body had been remarkably small for the damage done.

He'd saved no one. No one, and nothing.

"No, not really."

Cloud didn't think she would bother lying to him. It was rare that she had, even before she'd died.

Hoped that if the Lifestream had been pretending, they would have tried to make her perfect, gentler and more content than the woman he'd known. She looked tired, even now, though her smile was freer, easier than he'd ever seen it. She looked proud of him, which made no sense at all.

"I wasn't sure if I should come."

"You're my mother." She had never been alive, when he'd understood the love and sacrifice and certainty of that word. She'd given up her life for him, knowing he would never understand, never appreciate it until it wouldn't matter.

"I could have... I regret it, now. Everything." She wrung her hands together, thin and slightly bony at the first knuckle. "Not being stronger, not being there, not like I should have."

Cloud's lips quirked. "You nearly shot Mayor Lockheart. That wasn't so bad."

Tifa, apparently, had never been told the entire story, and Cloud hadn't seen the need to wound with unnecessary truths. How her father had come after him, the day she'd fallen, the day she'd nearly died. Waited until Cloud was in the middle of the town square, still half in shock himself - and – well, killing Cloud might not have been the mayor's intention, but he'd been the first one to come at all close. At least until his mother had come out with the shotgun, loaded and ready to make good on the promise in her eyes.

"I should have done it."

"It wouldn't have changed anything." Cloud thought he would have forgiven her, if he could even remember anything specific to blame her for. He'd lived with his mother all of his life, but this woman was a stranger to him. It was probably a sin, how little he grieved the loss, but there had been little to grieve besides awkwardness and empty space. If she had been solid now, miraculously brought back to life, she would not have put her arms around him. If she had, he wouldn't have known what to feel.

Of course, it could still hurt. Longing, and sorrow, for the people they might have been – but that was the steady weight of his whole life, and the ache was easy enough to bear.

His mother looked at him, really looked, with eyes that had been his eyes, once upon a time. He'd never, ever been able to see his father in the mirror – even less so, when he'd found out who it was.

"You were happy?"

Mountain mornings in the summer, when the air seemed almost too clear and clean to breathe. Sitting on the water tower with Tifa - that last night, when he'd told her his dream and she hadn't laughed and he'd wondered, just for a moment, if it was going to happen, just like that. The story that would start there and end with his dreams fulfilled. Endless possibilities, in those years – it would get better. It had to.

It had always been enough, just to know Zack. Just to watch him live – to see what it meant to be brave, and proud, and fearless. Whatever had been wrong with Cloud, whatever the rest of the world saw, Zack didn't notice it. Zack didn't care, and that was the first that Cloud thought he might actually escape where he'd been. Who he was.

"I was."

He would have said it anyway, but it was nice not to have to lie.

"I was happy."

Zack laughing, and Cloud watching, as the sun set, and the night was warm, the lights above the plate easily blotting out the stars – and it was mundane enough, quiet enough that Cloud trusted the simple memory to be real, and his.

"And now?" Her voice was gentle, careful. She was Lifestream now, she knew everything, who he was and what he had done and who he grieved for.

And no one, _no one_ could measure up to Sephiroth, and so it hardly mattered that Cloud had fallen so far from the goal. The longing, he could live eternities just in that hopeless want – and fuck it all, it had been worth it, hadn't it? Could he really have wanted it any other way? The cost of knowing Sephiroth wouldn't have changed – and he would have paid it, gladly, if there had ever been a choice. Let it damn him, let Hojo have that victory. A truth he would live with, the alternative infinitely more painful.

"Other people are, now. Alive, and happy, because of what I did."

"Is that enough?"

He grinned then, because he'd turned away and she couldn't see – they couldn't see that he knew. No longer his mother, if indeed she'd ever been.

"Enough to stop the end of the world? I think so. Enough to defeat your great enemy – if it wasn't all a shell game from the start. Three-card Jenova? Did she ever know she was being used?"

He was on the ground before he knew what had hit him, panting into the dirt as the aftershocks of their displeasure coursed through him. If he hadn't been strung between heaven and hell, if Hojo hadn't shoved half of his science lab into him, Cloud was sure their rage would have killed him by now.

"How _dare_ you mock us. After all you have seen, all you have suffered, still you think you have the right to play at such sacrilege?"

He managed a laugh, too breathless to make it loud, though he was sure they heard him. He could feel it, a chill wind that made his hair stand on end.

"Testy testy, you'd think you had something to hide." Cloud chuckled. "Family feud?"

The roar of their anger deafened him, shaking the world, but he was already on the ground, so it didn't matter much. He clenched his jaw, let the pain wash over him like a waterfall, pounding down ice, rode it out.

"I can tell when you're keeping secrets, you know." His teeth chattered, but Cloud ignored it. "And it never... you were the perfect, beatific guardians of the world, weren't you? Pure and wonderful and without any sin." It took all his strength to get back to his feet, facing the burning image – Aeris again, they always shifted back to her, the face of the one who had sacrificed herself to bring them back to this world.

It had been her fight, the whole time. Only hers, and she'd never told him.

"The Black Materia was your_ temple_, and what the fuck does that mean, in the end? Jenova... you tell me again, tell me that sad, little story, how you were all nothing but victims."

Oh, he'd pissed them off but good, standing in front of her like leaning into a blast furnace. Cloud knew he was pushing, maybe too far, but it felt good to be reckless, and stupid.

"What kind of weapon was she supposed to be, I wonder? Were you fighting each other? Or was it our kind back then? What did you think she could do for you? Was it worth this? Watching some inferior species walk all over your precious planet?"

So they couldn't kill him. The bitch of it was, they could do just about everything else. He wondered now, what it had been like for Aeris. If even half-awake, they'd been able to make those demands, to hurt her. Lashing down on him, howling – they wanted out, they wanted revenge and they wanted out and every mako reactor fired made them angrier, crazier, voices wailing in his mind in a dissonant, howling choir, the pain like lightning, by the time he realized it had stopped he was choking on his own breath, just in time for them to hit him again. No chance to scream, he curled up as best he could in the dirt and waited for them to wear themselves out. Hoped no one would come find him, that no one would step in the middle, though the Ancients seemed disinterested in strangers.

"How could you. How could you, for such a _monster_."

Cloud smiled into the dust – it wasn't the first time they'd asked, and he hardly had the words for an answer. He would have told them, Tifa and Barrett and the rest. He would have, if he'd had the words.

"You know, you should probably give them what they want."

Cloud wrinkled his nose at the vaguely familiar voice, in more of Zack's memories than his own. "Tseng?" He laughed, mostly a cough, not as derisive as it deserved to be. "God, you bastards are _reaching_ now."

He thought it would be more polite, to look the Turk in the eye, but couldn't quite manage to roll over properly. Cloud could still sense when Tseng knelt down in the dirt, a move he never would have contemplated when he was alive, much too fastidious to invite even the slightest wrinkle.

"How much longer do you think you can last? You won't last. I've seen this before."

Laughter was out of the question, but Cloud could still manage dry sarcasm. "You have? Really?"

Tseng ignored him. "You'll fold. You don't even know what you're fighting against. I'm starting to think you don't know what you're fighting for."

Cloud finally did manage to roll over, digging his elbows into the ground, though he couldn't lift his head further than glaring at the ghostly man's kneecaps. "You Turks were a lot more intimidating before I could throw cars, believe me."

A little depressing, when Cloud had finally learned how little there was to be afraid of, on the other side of that soulless Turk smile. What it meant, to see it in the mirror. One more thing he could have lived without knowing.

Nothing in Tseng's eyes, looking back at him. Even in the Lifestream, the Turk was uniquely himself, cold and inscrutable and emotionless. Strange, that he was dead – strange, maybe, that he had ever lived.

"It won't end well for you, Cloud."

Tseng was already fading, the Lifestream's angry hiss growing quieter, a low static burn, as Cloud brushed the dust off his pants, carefully stretching muscles that twitched and trembled but kept him standing. Already healing, already strong.

If he did it right, he might very well live forever.

"Just so long as it ends."

* * *

The hitch in his breathing finally calmed, the last vestiges of the night's 'discussion', just as the sky had lightened into a perfect gradient, and he watched the edge of the world slip into gold as the sun lifted above the horizon.

"Pretty pretty soldier boy."

Slim arms slipped around his waist, warm and strong. Yuffie pressing her cheek against his back, leaning hard into him. As steady and solid as any of the thousand-year trees that twisted up from the Wutai soil, undefeated by wind or weather or the passing of time, and Cloud let his shoulders drop, let himself lean into her.

Yuffie had never asked if Cloud could see her mother in the Lifestream. He had felt her, never a glimpse, but the weight of her gaze was a tangible thing, her worry. She knew what he was, what he intended – but more importantly, Cloud thought, Yuffie's mother knew who her daughter was, and how any argument was futile before it even began.

He wondered, not for the first time, why Yuffie was here with him.

A hand lightly chafed his arm. "You've been out here a while."

"Mm. I was practicing."

"Sure." Never pressing, not ever, and Cloud wondered if Yuffie thought that was the reason he'd abandoned Midgar, left Tifa – god, he was fucking this all up. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to add her to the pile, all the things he couldn't have kept from ruining, when he could have so easily walked away from this.

Yuffie's hand curled, scratching gently at his stomach, as if she could tell where his thoughts were wandering.

"You're going back." Not a question.

Cloud didn't move. "They can keep the pressure on Rufus here. He doesn't have the resources to advance, or the ability to withdraw."

Yuffie sighed. "We're winning. If they won't admit it now they'll have to soon."

He nodded. "It doesn't matter. ShinRa will wreck the army here, before they'll ever admit defeat. They have to. A show of force. It's the only thing they know how to do."

If he stayed, if he won the war and remained in Wutai, Cloud knew Yuffie would be at his side. A new life, a new world.

If he moved on, then, if he healed, if he tried – what was Zack, then? Admit that the man wasn't irreplaceable, that it was all just one more moment, one more thing to be put aside and moved beyond -

It was easier to break, than to let himself be saved. It hurt so much less.

"It might be difficult, getting back across the water."

Cloud snorted. "I could always go in drag."

Yuffie pressed her forehead against his back, chuckling slightly. "You have no idea how much I regret missing that. The money I could have made from those pictures..."

The sun was still rising, imperceptible degrees, just enough to show that time was passing, that this was already half a memory. Yuffie's grip tightened slightly.

"The sword. Seph - his... the Masamune." She fumbled with her kindness, keeping that name like a sheathed sword, and it hurt, that she tried so hard. Cared so much. "It's gone. We don't know how... or who. Everyone was distracted, with the fighting. Rufus must have..."

Yuffie sounded ashamed, as if there had been any reason to jealously guard a seven foot piece of steel, as if anyone could actually _use_ the blade. Cloud turned around, didn't want her to think he was upset, and hiding.

"It doesn't matter."

Cloud had never tried to lift the Masamune, not like that, not for all the days it had been in plain view. Alone with it, and he still hadn't been able to try – couldn't dare, even now.

"It doesn't matter to me. If Rufus is that desperate, trying to... whatever it is. It won't do them any good."

He had kept it only because he had kept it, because they had dug it up in some expedition to what was left of the Crater and Reeve had offered it and Cloud had accepted. Vincent had brought it to him, but there had been too much to say and no words for any of it. Maybe Vincent had been the one to take the sword back. Cloud thought once, he'd had the barest understanding of how people worked. He'd thought he might improve with time.

Yuffie looked at him, and Cloud watched the private war play out across her face – the things she wouldn't say to him. Things she thought it would hurt him to hear, and Cloud wondered when he'd first realized she was so gentle.

"I'm not going to say anything, you asshole." She dropped her head, pressed it against his shoulder. Barely half-a-head shorter. "You know, though, and I know you know. If you wanted stoic and sensible, you chose the wrong damn ninja princess. There's a limit-"

Her voice cracked. Cloud shut his eyes. It hardly felt real. He let his hand rise, fingers tangling in wisps of her hair, until she leaned her cheek into his palm.

"You'll be the greatest ruler this country has ever known, Yuffie. They'll tell stories of you that will last a thousand years."

Yuffie shook her head fiercely, daring him to argue.

"I don't want it. Let them keep it." A pause, he could hear her swallow, the jagged edges of the quiet offer. "Anywhere. We can go anywhere."

Cloud wondered how long she argued with herself, whether or not to even ask.

"Anywhere I can go, they can follow." Cloud opened his eyes, let his eyes trace the shadow of the low wall across the grass. "Even then..."

"Even then?"

_What would happen, I wonder, if I were to give you the chance to leave?_

He shuddered with the memory, Hojo's words still carrying that crippling certainty. All that was left of him, and Zack still the better half – and Sephiroth – Jenova - the scorn in those eyes, the certainty that Cloud Strife did not exist – and could he really say otherwise? If he'd happily discarded himself at the first opportunity, how could he argue when anyone else did the same?

"No." Yuffie pulled away violently, and before Cloud could even move, she grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking sharply, forcing him to look at her. Scowling, watching him so closely, and Cloud wasn't sure if she was going to cry or knee him in the balls or both at once.

"Yuffie..."

"Shut up."

He did. Yuffie reached down, taking his right hand in both of hers, pressing it hard against her chest, over her heart, never taking her eyes off him. He could feel her heart beating, watched a bead of sweat trace a small trail down the curve of her throat.

"It's yours. This moment. I'm giving it to you, just for you, forever. I don't give a damn about the Lifestream, or Sephiroth, or whatever they did to you or made you think you were – no matter what happens, you can remember this. This moment belongs to you, Cloud Strife, and no one else."

Her voice was thick, and when Cloud pulled her close she dove against him, hands fisting in his shirt.

"I'm sorry, Yuffie. I'm sorry."

"Just shut up," she whispered, and held on.


End file.
